


While you waited in darkness

by stjarna



Series: Writing Prompts / Drabbles / Requests [24]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Maveth, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Maveth - Freeform, Multi Chapter, Pregnancy, Tumblr Prompt, Unplanned Pregnancy, Will as big bro, Writing Prompt, not spaceBF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-11-04 10:46:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10989342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Based on an anon Tumblr prompt: FS hook up before Maveth, leaving Jemma pregnant when she goes through the portal. (Will being a big bro is always appreciated :))





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awwcoffeenooooo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awwcoffeenooooo/gifts).



> Title from the book [“On the Day You Were Born” by Debra Frasier](http://a.co/iM3EmgS)
> 
>  
> 
> _While you waited in darkness,_  
>  _tiny knees curled to chin,_  
>  _the Earth and her creatures_  
>  _with the Sun and the Moon_  
>  _all moved in their places,_  
>  _each ready to greet you_  
>  _the very first moment_  
>  _of the very first day you arrived._

She walks slowly down the hallway, almost too tired to lift her feet off the ground. She’d spent hours in their make-shift med bay stitching up minor wounds and bandaging injuries, while Cal and Lincoln had been operating on Coulson’s arm. At some point she did it all on autopilot, her mind constantly drifting off to the way Fitz had looked at her when he and the rest of the away team had returned. Relief had washed over her to see him unharmed, but at the same time the exhausted and sad look on his face had made her wish she could leave duty behind and rush straight to him. She’d opted for at least grabbing his elbow in passing to reassure herself that he was there and alive and it might all be okay one day, while Cal called over his shoulder for her to come with them to the infirmary. Fitz had looked straight at her, the corners of his mouth ticking into the hint of a smile. He’d lifted his chin in a wordless ‘I’m fine’, an encouragement to go and help those who needed her more than him. So she’d given his elbow one final squeeze, telling him she’d talk to him later, before following Cal and Lincoln to the med bay.

Now, hours later, her body feels depleted and ready to sink into bed, but her mind is still wide awake. Her heart pounds in her chest as she turns the corner, trying to figure out if she should really dare knock on his door and risk waking him.

She stops in surprise when she sees him sitting with his back resting against the wall outside his bunk, still dressed in full tact gear, his legs slightly pulled up, his arms hanging loosely by his side. His eyes are half-open, blinking in slow motion, staring into the empty space in front of him.

“Forgot the code to your own bunk?” she tries to joke and his gaze slowly lifts to meet her eyes.

A faint chuckle escapes his lips. “I don’t even know. I got here and—” He shrugs. “And I didn’t go in.” He exhales a quiet sigh. “I think I was worried that if I went inside, I might not get a chance to talk to you tonight. Or even just see you. I really needed to see you.”

She feels tears rising to the surface, rimming her eyes and threatening to spill over. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

He nods, barely noticeably, his eyes briefly darting to the floor before meeting hers again. “Yeah. Me too.”

He uses the wall to push himself up to standing, groaning loudly. As if by instinct, Jemma reaches for his shoulder, trying to offer support. “You okay?”

He chuckles weakly. “Yeah. I’m just _not_ meant to be a martial artist or any type of warrior and it showed today.”

Their eyes meet and for a moment Jemma feels as if time stands still and she’s being pulled into the strangely dark-blue and serene pool of his irises. She feels her stomach tighten; the same intense tightness she felt when she grabbed his hand before he went on this mission, trying to tell him that maybe there was more to talk about than he’d thought.

He clears his throat, his head briefly gesturing in the direction of the door to his bunk. “Do you… ummm… are you heading to bed, or… or do you want to come inside and… and—” His hand flies to the back of his neck, scratching it nervously. Then he lifts his shoulders, exhaling sharply. “Did you mean it when you said there was something to discuss?”

His eyes dart back and forth between hers and the floor and his shy but endearing behavior causes her lips to pull into a slight smile. She draws in a slow breath, nodding in silence until her mind is ready to formulate an audible reply.

“Yes. I meant that.” Her voice seems so quiet that for a moment Jemma’s afraid she’d not said it aloud at all.

But something changes in the way he looks at her, doubt being replaced by a mix of relief and curiosity. He turns around without saying a word and punches in the key code to his room. The door buzzes briefly as it unlocks and Fitz turns the knob to push it open. Encouraged by his shy, inviting smile, Jemma steps into the room, inhaling the ever-familiar scent of his surroundings.

She turns around when she hears the door lock in place, trying not to let her frantic heartbeat distract her, when Fitz takes a step closer, his hand trembling slightly as he reaches out to grab hers. She can feel their palms sticking together, both slightly sweaty from nervousness.

Jemma swallows, stretching out her free hand to intertwine her fingers with his. She looks up, seeing his eyes shine brighter than the stars despite the dimness of the ceiling light.

“So,” Fitz whispers, his breathing shallow and fast. “What did you… what did you wanna talk about?”

She can see fear in his eyes, fear of her answer, and yet a shimmer of hope glistening just as brightly. She’s not sure where to begin, how to put a revelation ten years in the making into words. She tries to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Tries to shape memories, ideas, dreams, and feelings into words. And suddenly it’s like a curtain is lifted and the sun shines in.

“Let me show you,” she hears herself say as her lips pull towards his with a force stronger than gravity.

He seems surprised for a moment, his muscles stiffening, his lips firm, his exhale sharp and sudden as if someone had punched the air out of his lungs.

But then Jemma feels his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer. She feels his lips soften, melting against hers. She feels his body respond to hers. Feels a heat rush through her, an urgent energy, screaming at her to seize the moment and never let go. She combs her fingers through his hair, intensifying their kiss, before breaking it for a moment, staring into his blue eyes. “You’re more than my best friend, Fitz. So much more.”

She sees a smile flash across his face, his eyes shimmering happily despite a thin curtain of tears. She notices the calluses on his fingers when he cups her face, gliding over the soft skin below her eyes with his thumbs. She closes her eyes, feeling his warm breath on her lips as he leans closer. She savors the taste of his tongue brushing against hers. And when his fingers pull up her shirt, grazing over her naked skin, it’s like an excited electric jolt rushing through her body, asking for more.

* * *

She wakes up the next morning with his arm draped around her naked waist. His body feels warm and comforting next to her, but her mind somehow won’t allow her to enjoy the unfamiliar but exciting closeness. Carefully, she tries to slip out of his embrace, but the body next to her stirs and when she turns around, she sees two sleepy blue eyes looking back at her.

“Jemma?”

She can’t help but smile. “Sshhh. Go back to sleep. I… I just need to check on Bobbi and Coulson.”

“’Kay,” he mumbles quietly, but a hint of nervous doubt glimmers behind his tired eyelids.

* * *

It’s maybe two hours later when his voice interrupts her thoughts while she looks over some of Coulson’s blood results in the lab.

“Hey.” She smiles shyly. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“Yeah. Hi. Just… just wanted to see what you’re up to.”

She hands him the tablet she’s holding and he studies it briefly before letting out a deep sigh. “So.” He clears his throat. “You… ummm… you really didn’t try to sneak out this morning because… well… because you regret—? I mean. I don’t mean to. I don’t want to. I’m not trying to imply—”

“I did _not_ sneak out because I regret that we slept together, Fitz. My brain was simply too anxious to stay in bed when I know there are people in med bay I should keep an eye on.”

“Okay. Alright. Yes. That… That sounds very much like your brain. I… I was just… I mean… we should… I think that maybe we should talk about how we… how we… how we didn’t really end up talking when we’d meant to talk about how maybe there’s something to talk about with regard to what I said at the bottom of the ocean.” He clears his throat.

She can’t help but chuckle at his adorable nervousness. “Yes. You’re right. We should talk about how we didn’t talk when we meant to be talking about talking.”

He chuckles, blushing slightly at the fact that she’s teasing him. “How ‘bout—”

“Agent Simmons, Agent Morse mentioned she’s having significant pain in her knee and I was wondering if you could take a look. I’m unsure whether we can safely up the dosage on her pain meds.”

Jemma’s head shoots around to stare at the unexpected and somewhat unwelcome visitor. “Oh. Umm. Yes, Agent Blackfield. I… I’ll be there in a second.” She sighs, looking back at Fitz, who’s staring sheepishly at his shoes. “I’m sorry, Fitz. I… I’ll talk to you later?”

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll talk.”

* * *

She’d left Bobbi’s makeshift ICU a few hours ago, scarfed down a sandwich for lunch and headed to the room where they’d stored the monolith. She’d worked on it with Agent Weaver for a while, trying to come up with a game plan for how best to study the strange artifact. But then Weaver had excused herself to go and check on Coulson.

Jemma stares at the small laptop screen in front of her, studying the data their sensors had gathered from the monolith, growling quietly in frustration.

“Exciting stuff?”

She looks up, surprised by her sudden visitor but unable to stop from smiling at the sight of him.

She scoffs. “Confusing stuff is more like it. I can’t make sense of any of it so far.”

“I… I can take a look later if you’d like me to. Four eyes and all that.”

“Of course I’d like you to. Thank you for offering.”

“So. ‘Bout what I asked earlier. About… about—”

“Talking.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

A strange silence filled with anticipation settles in the room and for a moment they just stare at each other, until Fitz takes a step forward, walking up to where Jemma is standing by the crate. Jemma notices her heartbeat quicken with each step he makes.

“Well.” He stops, nervously tapping the thick glass plane with his index finger, while tucking the other hand in his pocket. “I thought… maybe… Maybe we… I mean… Maybe dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Yes. We could… you and I… we could have dinner.”

“Here?”

“Ummm… well… I was thinking maybe… someplace nice.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen and the corners of her mouth pull into a wide smile.

Fitz clears his throat, focusing on the monolith, seemingly too afraid to look her in the eye. “You know, just so we can talk without interruptions about… it… that… last night and… and what it means… could mean… if it means anything… if you want it to mean anything.”

Jemma nods. “Right. Yes. Definitely. Talk. That… that sounds lovely.”

He looks at her and she notices a smile brightening his features.

“Okay.” He takes a step closer, his eyes fixed on her. “I… I’ll make a list of options to run by you?”

Jemma feels her heartbeat in her throat and a swarm of butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach.

“I do like lists,” she whispers, his face so close now that she can feel his breath on her lips.

“Turbo!” Mack’s voice booms through the door. “There you are. I need your help with something.”

Fitz jumps back, clearing his throat and scratching his ear. “Mack. Yeah. Right. Sure. Yes. Umm. So.” He smacks his hands together, rubbing them vigorously, before pointing at Jemma with both index fingers. “Jemma. I… I’ll talk to you later about that… that thing we discussed.”

She glances nervously in Mack’s direction before returning to Fitz. “Yes. Later. Definitely.”

Jemma can’t seem to stop grinning even after Mack and Fitz have left the room. She sighs, her mind playing their conversation in an endless loop. She grabs some of the equipment to clean up the area when she notices that the door to the crate is standing slightly ajar.

“Ugh, what idiot—?” she exclaims, annoyed with people’s ineptitude, leaning her hands against the glass to close the crate.

It feels like the air is pushed out of her lungs when the door suddenly swings open and she’s thrown across the room. She screams when she feels something grabbing her, pulling her back, engulfing her in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do realize that in canon there was at least a little bit of a time jump between defeating Jiaying and Jemma being swallowed (what with Coulson being out of med bay and Fitz having started designing the Zephyr and all that), so that's a deliberate change I made.
> 
> Big shout out to @marvelthismarvelthat and @dilkirani for helping me with research and beta for this fic.
> 
> I have the basic outline for the fic (current chapter count is a total guesstimate), but cannot say at this point how quickly I'll be able to write and update. Be prepared that this fic might not be completed for a little bit. [But I'll do my best not to keep you waiting forever ;) ]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next will be fairly close to canon, after that it will diverge more, but all-in-all, I'm trying to keep the storylines similar.

She feels like a cat falling from three stories high. Her arms and legs flail, trying to find which way is up and which way is down, trying to rotate to somehow land safely. But she lands hard on her back, the impact sending a tremor through her entire body. She rolls to one side, her head spinning and her heart racing as she looks around in confusion, noticing a rock formation and an ocean of sand and dust. Everything around her is bathed in darkness and her eyes struggle to adjust, but then she sees the dust cloud getting smaller and smaller, being drawn to the center of where her body seemingly had just exited.

She screams Fitz’s name, stumbling to the spot, her frantic hands clawing at the sand, begging for help, trying to find the exit or entry or whatever it had been while her mind slowly realizes there’s no way for him or anyone to hear her. All that’s left is sand and darkness and the panicked thumping in her chest.

She pulls out her phone, but there’s no signal. “Where the hell am I?”

At first, she doesn’t believe it when she runs up one of the dunes and sees the two moons hanging over the horizon. Slowly, she stumbles back down the hill, back to where she’d arrived. Her head is still spinning, whether from being thrown to the ground or because her mind can’t comprehend what just happened, she can’t tell. Maybe it’s a bit of both.

She sits down on the ground, her eyes wandering from one corner in her line of sight to the next, her mind meandering through countless scenarios, scientific explanations, fearful thoughts, home to Earth and back again.

Part of her thinks it’s a dream, that she’ll wake up any moment now. But it doesn’t feel like a dream. She feels the sand below her fingers, the dust in her eyes. She sees the rocks, the desert, the unfamiliar star formations, the two moons. She hears the sand crunching, the wind whistling around the rocks and rushing over the ground. She smells the dusty air, tastes the dirt. All her senses are telling her that this isn’t a dream. It’s a living nightmare.

When she looks at her phone again, she realizes it’s been six hours already.

“It’ll be fine,” she tells herself and decides to follow protocol.

_Remain in position, wait for extraction._

She tries to counter her rising anxiety by keeping busy.

_You’re a scientist after all, and a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent at that. It would be irresponsible not to collect and record valuable data. Come to think of it, it really is quite remarkable, fascinating, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity._

_Space. The final frontier_ , she jokes.

For a few exciting moments, Jemma almost enjoys being a space traveller, an explorer, a pioneer. Until she hears herself reporting that there are no signs of noticeable vegetation or water.

_No water._

There it is again. Her heart beating louder, faster, sending her into panic.

But panic isn’t going to help.

Jemma takes a deep breath. “It will open again,” she reassures herself. “Fitz will find a way. After all, we’re going for dinner.”

_To talk and… Well…_

Oh, he’d looked so nervous when he’d asked her out for dinner. She’d wanted to ease his concerns immediately of course. Make sure that he knew once and for all that she most certainly did _not_ regret that they’d slept together. Quite the opposite. And _of course_ she’d wanted it to mean something. How could he still doubt that? She’d told him that he was more than a friend after all. But maybe one sentence and one night was not enough to extinguish the raging fire of doubt he’d created in his mind—a fire that’d grown probably since the moment he’d handed her the oxygen bottle at the bottom of the ocean. But of course the previous night had meant something! It had meant so much! And Jemma’d been so ready to talk about it, to ease his mind, to take the next step forward. But as usual, work got in the way. Agent Blackfield. Mack. Never a chance to even finish a sentence. And now this damn monolith.

_It’s like the bloody cosmos is determined to keep us apart._

She scoffs, rolling her eyes in frustration.

_Gosh. Listen to yourself! The cosmos! The cosmos doesn’t want anything! You’re a scientist! Keep it together, Simmons! Fitz will find a way. With science! And then you’ll go for dinner and talk and… then maybe not talk for the rest of the night and then…_

A smile flashes across her face and the thumping in her chest seems to quiet down somewhat, or maybe shifts its focus away from where she is and back to where she’ll soon be again.

_Fitz will find a way._

* * *

Hour after hour passes. Thirteen. Twenty-two. Seventy-One.

Jemma waits. Sits still. In darkness.

She sleeps. Wakes up. Darkness.

Sleeps. Wakes up. Darkness.

She screams. Begs for the sun. Begs for rescue. Begs to go home.

She cries. Cries and cries until the tears dry up and her body demands to sleep again.

So she sleeps. Wakes up. Darkness.

An emotional rollercoaster. Optimism being replaced by panic being replaced by anger being replaced by hope.

Every time she hits rock-bottom, she pulls out her phone, records logs, video messages, voice messages, stares at his picture, pictures of Skye, the team, her parents, her brother, videos of her nieces, the video Fitz had sent her on her last birthday, that beautiful Doctor Who cake. Somehow the pictures, the videos and Fitz’s voice in her head always manage to pull her back to a place of serenity.

It’s not until her mouth gets drier and drier, until it gets harder to focus, until seventy-nine hours have passed that she realizes she can’t go on like this, that hope alone isn’t enough.

_The average person can survive up to three weeks without food but only one hundred hours without water._

She constructs an arrow out of stones, placing her grandmother’s necklace on it as a sign for Fitz to know where to find her. Carefully she marks her path with little cairns so she can return back to the entry point once she’s found water.

_One hundred hours._

Her mind mumbles it over and over like a magical number as she hikes through the desert, as she tries to battle loneliness and exhaustion by holding conversations with Fitz, by thinking about their date, about finally talking with him about her feelings, about what she wants, about how—if it were up to her—their night together was most certainly the beginning of something new and exciting.

Steady steps forward turn into stumbling zigzag lines; strong legs turn into buckling knees; her wonderful 20/20 vision becomes blurry and distorted; well-formulated log entries speculating about the planet and its moons turn into incoherent ramblings about a cottage in Perthshire.

When she pulls herself up yet another sand dune, her exhausted and deprived brain theorizes that this could be the last one she’d manage to climb.

When she sees the dusty cloud of a sandstorm heading her way once she reaches the top, she’s convinced her theory is correct.

She wakes up, covered in sand, the wind still howling around her. She’s not sure if she should trust her eyes at first, or her mind, when she sees the blurry black spot in the distance. She mutters Fitz’s names as if somehow he could be her second set of eyes as usual, as if somehow he can confirm what she thinks she’s seeing.

_Go,_ his voice whispers. _Go and check it out._

Jemma’s confidence slowly grows as she stumbles closer, and when she drops to her knees and her lips touch the water, absorbing it like a dried-up sponge, she cries tears of joy instead of tears of despair for the first time in more than four days. When she falls asleep next to the waterhole, it’s the first time in just as long that her mind isn’t plagued by nightmares.

But the happy memory of a candlelight dinner with Fitz is short-lived when Jemma awakens back in a bed of sand surrounded by darkness, and her nightmarish reality is only confirmed when she’s almost drowned by whatever is living in the little pond she’d dared to bathe and relax in.

For a while Jemma just stares at the strange, white tentacle, the small piece she’d managed to hack off of a much larger creature. Carefully, she pokes it, noticing the rubber-like texture. There’s no sign of blood. No noticeable nervous system. It appears to be a plant. Carnivorous for sure.

She’s in the middle of documenting the attack and what little information she is able to gather without any scientific tools at her disposal, when her stomach reminds her that even though she’d been able to battle the immediate effects of dehydration ever since finding the waterhole, she hasn’t eaten in four and a half days.

_Survival of the fittest_ , she thinks, holding the tentacle in her hand.

_Simmons 1 – Alien creature 0._

She stares at it, drawing in a slow breath before bringing it to her mouth. The smell, texture, and taste are revolting. It takes effort to swallow the chunk she’d bitten, and even more effort to stop from hacking it back up.

One bite is all she manages.

_For now. For now_ , she thinks. _That’s a start._

She rations the tentacle for as long as possible, and slowly her stomach gets used to it. But it doesn’t last for more than a few days.

She tries to chew on some of the bamboo-like plants growing next to the little pond, but realizes how foolish it is to think that these dried-up plants would have any nutritional value left.

After two and a half more weeks, Jemma decides that enough is enough.

The list of symptoms she’s experiencing from malnutrition and dehydration keeps growing with every passing hour.

Hunger pangs. Check.  
Nausea. Check.  
Fatigue. Check.  
Anxiety. Check.  
Muscle loss. Check.  
Weight loss. Check.  
Irregular menstrual cycle. Check.  
UTI. Check.  
Irritability. Check.

“It’s been three weeks, Fitz. If I don’t find something, if I don’t eat, I won’t make it.”

She stares at the pool of water in front of her. She knows it’s there. She knows it’s edible. She knows it’s probably the most nutritional thing in her vicinity. The only thing holding her back is fear.

_What if this time that thing is stronger? What if this time it pulls you down and you never reach the surface again?_

_But then, you’ve beaten it before. And this time you could go in better prepared. After all, you excel at preparation. After all, you’re a strong swimmer. If you managed to pull Fitz to the surface from the bottom of the ocean, then surely you can drag that bloody tentacled plant to the surface as well. Especially equipped with the right tools._

* * *

_It really doesn’t taste half bad once it’s cooked,_ Jemma thinks as she takes another bite of her dinner.

Why she hadn’t tried to make fire before, she can’t even tell. Maybe hunger, stress, and dehydration had messed more with her mind than she’d realized.

At last, her emotional rollercoaster lands on a high again. Her stomach satisfied, the victory over her enemy still soaring through her veins, the pride over building tools, creating fire, using science to survive, over jumping every hurdle this goddamn planet had tried to throw her way.

Jemma hears herself laughing for the first time in god-knows-how-long.

“You’d be so proud of me, Fitz! I killed the monster plant, then I made a fire, cooked him, and ate him. And then I burped really loud.”

There it is again. Laughter. Her own laughter.

_It doesn’t sound half-bad. It’s quite pleasant, really, to hear yourself laugh._

“I wish you could’ve been here,” she hears herself say through her chuckle-fest, staring at his picture, the shy half-smile he’s directing at the camera.

_I wish you could’ve been here._

She hears it again. Like a faint echo in her mind.

_I wish you could’ve been here._

Of course. As usually in this bloody place, her joy is short-lived.

“Actually, no, I don’t. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

She hears the wind whistle through the rock formations, notices how it causes her fire to flicker and a shiver runs through her body.

“Everyone always said we could read each other’s minds, Fitz. So I really need you to read mine right now. I’m alive. But I’m terribly alone and afraid. So I really need you to come and get me, okay? I know you won’t give up, so I won’t, either.”

_After all. We’re going for dinner. And from there… a new chapter of our story’s only just begun._

* * *

Her life seems a bit less miserable after that night.

Night?

Well.

It was _always_ night.

After four-hundred-and-ninety-five hours.

A little less miserable after _three_ weeks.

_That’s something, no?_

She’d found water, a food source, started a fire, built a tool-slash-weapon. The location is somewhat sheltered, and at times the sky above with its millions and billions of sparkling stars and the impressive moons is quite breathtaking.

But then Jemma’s stomach is in a constant state of nausea, always between wanting food and revolting against the type of food available. She feels tired most of the time, her sleep restless, her body still recovering from days of hiking, lack of nutrition, lack of light.

Her photographic memory reminds her in vivid detail and lengthy black-and-white text passages of everything her body is being put through.

Malnutrition. Dehydration. Sleep Deprivation. Vitamin D deficiency. Anxiety. Depression.

And of course: Boredom. Solitude.

The pictures from home. The videos.

Sometimes they help.

Sometimes they only seem to make things worse.

Her thoughts become short. Staccato. Concise. As if not to waste time and energy on irrelevant things.

Survival of the fittest.

Well. Just survival would do.

“You’ll notice I’m giving less updates to conserve battery power. Been on this stupid planet for a month now, and I lost my way to the entry point. I need to find—”

She stops.

Listens.

She’d heard the wind in the small, dried-up bamboo forest before, but something about the sound seems different today. It’s like a tapping. More rhythmic. As if on purpose.

She gets up and grabs her little makeshift weapon, curiosity getting the better of her.

She screams when the ground below her gives way, when the hole swallows her.

Like a month earlier, she falls only to land hard on her back. She stares up to where she can still see some of the stars above and gasps when she sees the dark figure covering the opening and trapping her in complete darkness.

Her head spins.

There’s a strange ringing in her ears.

Jemma closes her eyes.

_Just for a moment_ , she thinks before everything goes black and falls silent around her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure why, but somehow this chapter exploded (word-count-wise). I hope you don't mind. A lot of it is very close to canon (like I said in my note to the previous chapter).

Everything seems foggy when she wakes up, a dull headache dampening her thoughts. She feels slightly nauseous. Disoriented. Tired. She blinks, her brain slowly waking up from its involuntary sleep. Still, it takes her a moment to take everything in. The bamboo cage. The torches burning around it, bathing the cave in a flickering dim light.

She discovers two bowls at her feet and kneels down to examine them. One seems to contain water, the other some kind of porridge. She brings her nose closer and sniffs, trying to analyze what she’d been served like a caged animal.

She’s startled when she notices the dark figure standing in the shadows. In a panic, she scoots back to the far end of the cage.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

But the figure disappears as quickly and silently as it had appeared.

Nervously, Jemma glances through the bamboo bars of her prison cell.

_It looked human. Well, based on what little glimpse I caught of it. But then, so do Asgardians, the Kree if they were in the shadows. Who knows who or what it was?_

She pulls her knees up, trying to disappear in the corner, unsure what to do next.

Her weapon is gone. Her bag. Her phone. Her videos, photographs. Her lifeline home. Hope.

Fear rushes through every vein in her body, manifests itself in every cell, every neuron. She rubs her throbbing head.

_Fear won’t help you!_

Jemma sits up a bit straighter, taking in her surroundings.

_How long was I unconscious?_

_Judging by the grumbling in my stomach it must have been at least a few hours, maybe eight, maybe ten._

Slowly, Jemma scoots back to where the two bowls are placed on the floor. She leans down again, taking another sniff of the porridge, before pushing it away in disgust.

_It’s not worth giving into your hunger, Jemma! You can’t trust him._

_Plus, he may have taken your freedom, but to eat or not to eat is a choice **you** still have power over. Whatever or whoever that was can’t force you to eat without coming in here and shoving that glob down your throat! You survived three weeks without food before. You can do it again._

Her eyes fall on the second bowl, the milky liquid gently swooshing inside of it.

She swallows, her tongue slowly gliding over her dry lips.

Thirst is different.

_This is about survival, Jemma!_

_You can do without food for a while._

_But water?_

_One hundred hours._

_It’s not worth going through that again._

Her hands tremble when she picks up the bowl. Hesitantly, she brings the liquid to her lips before taking a small sip.

She closes her eyes as the cool fluid runs down her throat, savoring the sensation of hydration.

* * *

She’s not sure how much time has passed when he returns. All she knows is that she’s back in her little corner when she hears his footsteps.

“You’re still here.”

Jemma’s eyes widen, hearing the familiar language, the distinct American accent.

_Human. He really appears to be human._

“Of course I’m still here,” she replies quietly, her energy sources depleted.

She’d only had water, left the food untouched.

God knows how long it has been.

The dark figure doesn’t reply and it’s enough to turn Jemma’s fears into angry frustration.

She pulls herself up to standing. “Let me out of here. Let me out of here **_now_**!”

And then he disappears again, silently like a ghost.

Her emotional rollercoaster, the endless loop going on for more than a month now, continues. Hurt to fear to determination to anger to despair. Salty tears set her dry eyes ablaze as she slumps her shoulders in defeat. Everything inside of her wants to break, crumble, crumple, give up, give in.

But there’s one stubborn spark left inside of her. One stubborn voice telling her to keep it together. One stubborn voice reminding her of what Skye had told her once, about how May had taught her to mine her anger, mine her fears, mine her emotions and channel them to where they’d be useful. Turn weakness into strength and fear into determination.

_Survival of the fittest. Maybe it’s time to interpret the phrase more literally, no matter how lacking in accuracy it is from the point of view of a modern-day biologist._

She glares into the distance, before jumping up to grab the bars at the roof of her cage.

She groans as she pulls herself up.

_Survival of the fittest._

She lets herself hang back down, exhaling sharply, breathing through the sudden onset of nausea.

_Right now, you’re at a disadvantage._

She exhales another sharp breath through rounded lips before pulling herself up again.

_But you’re a bloody prodigy, Simmons._

She clings to the bars, feeling her weak muscles tremble, but forces herself to maintain the pull-up a bit longer.

_Two Ph.Ds._

She takes another deep breath, her muscles beginning to burn.

_Plenty of field experience._

She closes her eyes, noticing her palms becoming slightly sweaty.

_Undercover work, for God’s sake._

She lets out a groan and drops to the floor, her knees buckling below her. Bile pushes up her esophagus, leaving her mouth sour and stinging with acid. She swallows it back down, clenching her jaw in determination.

_You excel at preparation._

She stares back up at the bamboo bars. Somehow they seem to be further out of reach. She shakes her head, her nostrils flaring in anger.

_Prepare._

She bends her knees and jumps back up. She feels a splinter penetrating her palm as she grips the bar above, but she ignores the pain.

_Prepare._

She pulls herself back up. It takes more effort. It hurts more. She can feel tears pushing to the surface.

_Get fit._

She grips the bars tighter. Fights. Persists.

_Get fitter!_

She lets out an angry scream, forcing her muscles to tighten, her hands to hold on.

_Survival!_

She drops to the ground and falls to her knees. Exhaustion forces her to lean forward onto her elbows, while her lungs rush out short ragged breaths. This time, she can’t keep from throwing up. And yet, somehow, she laughs through the acidic taste; laughs and cries at the same time.

_Fitz won’t give up. So I won’t either._

* * *

She’d slept four times since waking up in her little cage. Of course she has no way of knowing what that means. Without her phone, without seeing the moons and stars change above the horizon, she had no idea how much time had passed. Not even in relative terms.

Sleeping four times means nothing.

There’s not much else to do.

Sleep. Wait. Do pull-ups. Drink water. Study your surroundings. Drink water. Do pull-ups. Wait. Sleep. And sleep. And sleep. And sleep.

She’s in a constant state of exhaustion. The hunger gnaws on her insides and yet her mind is stubborn enough not to let her eat.

The good-old symptom checker is back.

Hunger pangs. Check.  
Nausea. Check.  
Anxiety. Check.  
Weight loss. Check.  
UTI. Check.  
Irritability. Check.  
Exhaustion. Check.  
Fatigue. Check.  
Fatigue.  
Fatigue.  
Fatigue.

_Don’t show it. Don’t show fear. Don’t show weakness._

Muscle loss? **NO!** Not if she can help it.

_Train harder._

_Prepare._

_Excel._

Slowly, Jemma pushes herself up to standing, ignoring her buckling legs. Her vision becomes blurry, her ears ring for a moment as the cage spins around her. She closes her eyes, inhaling a slow breath. When she opens them again, she has found her bearings.

She looks up and exhales before jumping up to grip the bars and pull herself up, but lets herself drop straight back to the ground, forcing her legs to stand firm when she hears him turn the corner.

_Oh the audacity!_ she thinks when she notices him carrying the weapon she had so carefully constructed for herself.

“Welcome back. How was your day?” she asks, sarcasm audible in each syllable she spews in her captor’s direction.

He slowly steps closer, but remains in the shadows. A nervous shiver runs down Jemma’s spine when she feels him stare at her, yet, aside from the part where he’d trapped her, all he has done so far is bring her food and water.

_Maybe it’s worth trying a different approach._

She sighs deeply, taking a few steps forward, until she stands right by the prison gates. “My name is Jemma Simmons… Dr. Jemma Simmons. I’m from Earth, and I came here through a portal. And since you speak English, I suspect you might have as well.”

He doesn’t reply, but steps out of the shadow, eying her up and down with a strange combination of curiosity and skepticism.

“If you let me out, I can help you,” she says quietly, softly, trying to put honesty and trustworthiness into every word. “We can help each other.”

Her heart rate rises exponentially and she grunts in pain when he pokes her with the weapon, forcing her to move back, away from the bars.

_Oh, the audacity. Stubborn, ignorant brute. And **my** weapon. He’s using **my** weapon! **I** built that, you son-of-a-bitch!_

She glares at him as he lowers himself to place a fresh bowl of sludge through the small opening at the bottom of the cage.

“You’re going to eat me! Is that what this is all about?” she yells at him, holding onto the bamboo, her ribcage hurting where he’d stabbed her. “You fatten me up and then lead me to the slaughter?”

She hates how irrational she sounds, but then she’s basically grabbing at straws, trying to get any kind of reaction from him, any verbal comeback.

“Not a bad idea,” he mumbles before turning around and heading out of the cave. “’Course that would only work if you’d stop starving yourself,” Jemma hears him add quietly as he turns the corner.

Once again Jemma is left with no sound but the quiet crackling of the torches surrounding her prison and the beating of her own heart. Her eyes fall to the bowl of food. She can feel her stomach twist and turn with hunger, begging her to give in, but her mind comes up with a different plan.

* * *

It had worked so well. He’d fallen for her little theatrical act. She’d managed to overpower him, run away, and get out of the cave. She’d actually brought some distance between herself and her captor.

But of course, then she’d stumbled and cut her leg on a rock.

She turns on her back, feeling the pain rush from her calf to her thigh, feeling the blood oozing out of the wound.

He stands over her, some makeshift machete in hand, panting about as hard as she is from chasing her.

Jemma’s angry. So angry. Furious. Raging. Angry at him. Angry at this bloody planet. Angry at herself.

“Kill me if you want. But I’m not going to be your prisoner.”

She means it. Every word. She’d rather be dead than go back to that bamboo cage to be stared at, to be his prisoner, to be prisoner to his moods.

_It’s strange_ , she thinks. _You’d think he’d look more triumphant. Just get it over with!_

She’s not sure what to feel, think, do, when he slams down his weapon, grunting in anger, falling to his knees next to her leg.

“You’re bleeding.”

“What do you care?” she yells, her hands too slow to stop him from ripping the scarf she’d made from her sleeve off her neck.

“It smells blood.”

Her muscles tense when he tries to bandage up her injury. She tries to kick him away, but her legs are too weak to protest successfully. “Get away from me! Don’t touch me!”

The wind suddenly picks up around them and Jemma’s is surprised when he gets up, staring nervously into the distance.

“It’s coming.” There’s panic in his voice. “We have to go.”

She tries to turn, crawl away, make another run for it, or stumble for it at least, or do _anything_ to get away from him, but he wraps his arm around her waist and drags her along.

She yells. Protests. Hits him. Squirms. But he only tightens his grip on her, half-pulling-half-carrying her through the desert, the wind growing stronger with each step they take.

He pushes her roughly down the opening into the cave and Jemma struggles not to fall off the ladder, to land safely, her injured leg buckling each time she tries to put weight on it. The stabbing pain rushing from her calf up her thigh makes her want to scream, throw up, pass out.

“What do you think is out there?” she asks, looking at the man in his ragged clothes holding onto the thick rope dangling from the cover to the cave.

He keeps his eyes on the closed opening. “Death.”

Jemma scoffs, rolling her eyes in discontent. _So he’s not only a stubborn, ignorant brute, he’s a **superstitious** , stubborn, ignorant brute._

“The only thing out there is a sandstorm. It’s a desert planet, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she counters, ignoring the condescending tone of her voice.

Jemma almost laughs when he starts talking about how the planet is evil, how it has moods.

_It’s utterly ridiculous._

And yet, he seems firmly rooted in his beliefs, ignoring any and all of her scientific explanations, wielding his machete in her direction as he speaks.

“Perhaps it’s _you_ who has moods,” she growls through her teeth.

He glares at her, before turning around and walking over to a low shelf to retrieve a small metal box. “I’m gonna have to sew that up. And maybe your mouth, too, while I’m at it.”

Jemma exhales an angry breath. _How dare you?_

“I’m perfectly capable of tending to my own wounds.” She rips the box from his hands, holding his stare assertively.

He doesn’t protest, but the way he keeps his eyes fixed on her, the way she can smell his breath only inches away from her face before he pushes her roughly until her bum lands on the chair behind her, almost makes Jemma’s confidence waver.

But only for a moment. Only until annoyance over his rude behavior takes over once again.

“Why would I trust you, anyway?” She grunts in pain as she carefully lifts her leg onto the bucket in front of the chair. “You locked me in a cage, stabbed me with a spear, threatened to eat me.”

“That was your idea,” he mumbles quietly. “Besides, that’s before I knew you were real. If the evil hadn’t gotten to you or to me.”

He almost sounds apologetic, yet it seems too little too late.

“Well.” Jemma keeps her head buried in the first aid kit, rummaging through the medical supplies at her disposal. “Next time you have doubts about whether someone is real, ask them to hit you.”

She shrugs, looking up briefly to grin tauntingly at her captor.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice is much quieter now, and when Jemma looks back up, she’s surprised to see him with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his large stature suddenly appearing much smaller.

She finishes cutting a piece from the gauze, sighing in slight resignation. “Do you have a name?”

She could try to sound less annoyed maybe, but something inside of her is still fighting her usual polite manners.

“Will.”

She looks down, avoiding his eyes.

_Will_. _A name._

Somehow it makes him more human. More real. Less of an enemy.

_Don’t let your guard down, Jemma. He’s held you prisoner for God knows how many days!_

“You wouldn’t happen to have any alcohol, would you, Will?” she asks, returning back to her sarcastic tone.

“Yeah. I’ll run down to the drugstore and get it for you.”

_Oh, don’t you dare give me sarcasm in return._

“Would you, please?” she replies quickly, as not to give him the satisfaction of having the final word. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

She could swear the sound she hears is a small laugh from where he’s standing, but fights the urge to smile in return, instead focusing on the oozing cut on her leg.

She bites her teeth together, grunting in pain when she forces the needle through her skin for the first time. She swallows down the acidic taste rushing up from her stomach, taking a deep breath before placing the second stitch.

* * *

He’s been staring at her phone for ten minutes now at least, like a child having found a treasure, unable to believe it’s real.

“What is that thing anyways?” he’d asked when he’d returned her bag to her.

His eyes had doubled in size when Jemma had explained matter-of-factly that it was her mobile phone.

“ _That’s_ a cell? It… It’s so flat and there’s no keypad and no—”

She’d turned it on for him and decided to let him be mesmerized for a while, while she’d started to take inventory of his NASA equipment, the handwritten logs and reports scattered in crates and boxes.

_Fourteen years? God knows how many of those in solitude._

She still can barely believe his story.

“Technology must have hit warp speed after I left.” His mumbled observation pulls her out of her own thoughts and back into reality.

_Warp speed. What a quaint reference_ , she thinks, hating herself a second later for her snobbishness.

“Yeah, it’s hard to keep up sometimes,” she mumbles, her eyes wandering from one piece of tech to the next, one box to another. “If it wasn’t for Fitz, I’d be lost.”

“Fitz?”

Will asks the question the same time the name repeats in her mind.

_Fitz_.

She freezes in her movements. Just for a moment, before reeling her mind back to reality, trying to keep her focus.

“My best friend. He loves tech.” She reaches for a piece of thick paper, carelessly folded up and left on top of one of the crates.

_My best friend,_ her mind repeats.

_You’re more than my best friend, Fitz. So much more_ , something inside of her replies like a faint echo, making her stomach twinge and her heart twist.

She blinks, trying to steady her breathing, pushing the tears back down. She unfolds the paper in her hands, ignoring the way they tremble. “Is this a map of the area?”

She tries to learn more about the map, about the area, the no-fly zone, but his answers remain short, minimalistic, his mind immediately being drawn back to her phone.

“How much memory you have in this thing?”

“Hundred-twenty gigabytes,” Jemma replies absentmindedly, half-ignoring his astonished reaction as she tries to study the map.

She’s almost sorry to take the phone away from him, but he’s draining the battery, bringing her closer and closer to losing her lifeline to home once and for all.

She asks him about the strange light shining through behind the rock walls of the cave and his answer is the first scientific thing he’s said since she’d met him.

That is until he starts talking about the Fires of Hell, of course, forcing her to once again roll her eyes. “Okay, then!”

She understands how he must crave news from Earth, how the information she’s giving him must be overwhelming, but then, her giving _him_ information isn’t going to help. She needs to know everything there is to know about this place, the monolith, _anything_ really to come up with a plan.

“Hey, you hungry?”

His question lets her stop what she’s doing immediately, turning around as if struck by food-bearing lightening. Now that she has her phone back, she knows _exactly_ how long it had been since she’d fallen into his trap, since she’d last eaten.

Ninety-four hours.

She looks up, meeting his gaze that seems so much more friendly now. “Yes. Quite hungry, to be honest.”

He scoffs. “Guess, you’re finally willing to give my cooking skills a go. Best plant-porridge on this sandy hellhole. People line up for it for days.”

She chuckles weakly. “I see. So, the whole locking me up in a cage was just part of the reservation process?”

* * *

She listens carefully as he tells the story of his team, of NASA’s interest in the monolith, what his team had discovered, what had happened to the other astronauts.

‘It’ he’d called it. _It makes you crazy._

“And if there is no ‘it’?” she asks, unable to hold back the most obvious question.

“You still think I’m making all this up?”

The conversation only escalates from there, Jemma watching in vain as Will grows more and more defensive with each hypotheses she suggests until he slams his metal bowl to the floor and disappears behind the curtain into the side-cave where the equipment is stored.

She waits a while. Trying to organize her thoughts. Replaying their conversation in her head.

_It can’t go on like this. This kind of interaction won’t do us any good._

She exhales sharply and pushes herself up.

* * *

She tries to approach him slowly, almost as if walking towards a wild animal, wanting to tame it. She sits down next to him, sighing deeply. “I didn’t mean to imply.”

He nods in fake understanding, his fingers playing with the yellow fabric of a worn-out tennis ball.

“Perhaps it’s best if we start over, since we’re going to be working together.” She makes sure to sound confident, straight-forward, hopefully also a little bit friendly.

He shoots her a skeptical grin. “Working together? On what?”

“On getting home.”

He scoffs. “There’s no getting home. The sooner you accept that, the better. Survival’s all that matters.”

She shakes her head. “I will _not_ accept that. There’s always hope.”

“Not on this planet.”

_Oh, you stubborn, pessimistic, superstitious, ignorant brute!_ she thinks, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

Instead she pushes herself onto her knees, turning slightly to face him more directly. “Then that’s how we’ll work together. I’ll be the voice of hope. You’ll be the voice of doom. We’ll keep each other in check. Deal?”

She extends her hand, forcing an optimistic and welcoming smile. For a moment, he stares at her half in disbelief, half-condescendingly. But then he returns her handshake and Jemma’s chest fills with triumph.

“See? It’s working already,” she remarks, before once again sitting down next to him.

“No, it’s not,” he mutters under his breath and Jemma can’t help but let out a quiet laugh.

They sit next to each other in silence for a while, Jemma’s eyes wandering to the ceiling of the cave, the painted circles with numbers. Her lips part, preparing to ask him what that’s all about.

“Can I ask you something?” His question interrupts the one formulating in her own mind.

She shrugs. “Of course.”

He turns his head, squinting slightly. “Why are you not more surprised? You were pulled through a rock to a different planet! And yet… you seem surprisingly cool about it all.”

Jemma chuckles quietly, lifting her shoulders and sighing deeply. “Well, the idea of aliens and habitable planets outside our solar system have left the realm of science-fiction ever since Thor’s first arrival… albeit, _that_ S.H.I.E.L.D. was able to sort of keep under the radar… but then the Battle of New York and Battle of Greenwich happened. I mean, it’s just become part of daily life, I suppose, especially in _our_ line of work. I mean the Asgardians, the Kree, now Inhumans, which aren’t aliens _per se_ , but nonetheless were engineered by—”

She stops when she notices he’s staring at her wide-eyed.

Jemma wrinkles her forehead as the realization slowly dawns on her. “You don’t know any of this, of course, since it all happened after—”

He shakes his head, barely noticeable. “Umm. No. No, that’s all _very_ new to me. And I’m _fairly_ certain you lost me at ‘Thor’? Isn’t that a Greek god or something?”

“Norse. Norse god. Technically. But, well _this_ Thor is an alien, an Asgardian and well… alright… Thor first showed up on Earth in 2011, but _most_ of that is classified beyond my clearance level. The Battle of New York, on the other hand, took place May 4, 2012. It was a major battle between the Avengers and Loki.”

Will’s eyes just about double in size. “The Aveng—? What now?”

Jemma sighs. “Gosh. Where do I even begin?”

Will scoffs, raising his eyebrows. “Well, take your time. We’ve got plenty of that. I can tell you that much.”

* * *

The next month goes by a lot faster.

Well, maybe not a _lot_.

A bit. A _bit_ faster.

After all, she now has company.

Grumpy company.

But then Fitz is a notorious grump at times as well.

She’s really quite capable of dealing with Will’s moods. And it’s not as if she doesn’t have her own moods to battle.

All-in-all things are going well. Will had told her more about their mission, the data they’d collected and while it hadn’t helped Jemma to come up with a strategy to go home so far, it was a good start.

Of course, boredom is still often on top of her list of things to battle. She’d figured out Will’s little ‘bored game’ within two days and now it’d just gotten, well, boring.

Will doesn’t allow her to explore the area.

Too dangerous. _It_ could be lurking around every corner.

_It._

_Ha!_

God, how she hates his rubbish irrational fear of some sort of supernatural being lurking behind every sandstorm.

They’d taken trips to the water hole and at least he’d shown her around to introduce her to edible plants and where to find them. It makes her feel more useful. Gives her something to do. Then again, most of the time he insists on accompanying her like an overprotective big brother.

It’s annoying to say the least.

Quite strange to think that she’d felt so lonely after her arrival, and now she sometimes longs to have some time to herself.

But they _had_ settled into a routine. And her stomach had _finally_ gotten used to Will’s cooking, nausea slightly subsiding and her weight loss seemingly coming to a standstill.

She also feels stronger again, less fatigued and exhausted.

Sometimes, when the air seems particularly still and Will’s paranoia is at a low-point, they build a fire outside. Will usually whittles: a stake, a shiv, a spear, another weapon, and another, and another. Jemma usually just lies in the sand or rests her back against a rock, staring at the stars and the two moons. Sometimes they remain silent for hours, other times they exchange stories.

He tells her about his family: his father, who’d died two years before his mission, his mother, who’d knitted him a scarf when he’d joined NASA (“Cause it’s cold in space, my boy!”), his little sister, who’d asked him to bring her back a moon rock, not knowing where he was really going.

Jemma tells him about her life, S.H.I.E.L.D., the Academy, Sci-Ops, going into the field, her time undercover at Hydra, whatever she considers not too personal or too classified (as if spilling S.H.I.E.L.D.’s secrets would have any consequences here). And she answers his questions about Earth: major events, political developments, major TV shows and movies (“What do you mean, you’ve never heard of _Doctor Who_?” she’d exclaimed when he’d shrugged his shoulders at the mention of the _Doctor Who_ revival. “How can _anyone_ with aspirations of becoming an astronaut _not_ have heard of _Doctor Who_?”).

All in all, things are looking good.

Well. Better.

Well. A little less bleak.

* * *

“Ice-cold beer,” he says, pouring himself a glass of water.

It had become a favorite game of theirs. Always around dinner-time.

Jemma sighs approvingly, offering “Truffle fries” in reply.

Will raises his glass in her direction. “Steak, medium-rare, and another ice-cold beer.”

“Mm-hmm.” Jemma can feel her saliva running in her mouth as she clanks her cup against Will’s.

“Wine!” she exclaims. “Ugh, I’d kill for a glass of wine.” She puts her cup down and looks back at him. “What do you miss that’s not food?”

He shakes his head. “Well, the sun, without a doubt. You?”

She smiles shyly as her mind immediately drifts off to that special place inside her brain, where all her best memories reside.

* * *

Jemma can’t help but smile as the all-too-familiar video plays on the screen, as she hears her friends’ laughter, their birthday wishes.

“Happy birthday, Jemma. It’s not the same without you here. Say hi to your parents for me, and I’ll see you soon.” Sometimes she finds it hard to believe that no matter how many times she watches this video, the sound of his voice never ceases to bring a smile to her face and yet tears to her eyes.

“That’s Fitz.” She presses her lips together to keep from crying. It takes her a moment to realize that Will hasn’t reacted at all.

She glances at him, clearing her throat. “That’s Fitz,” she repeats a bit more loudly.

There’s a gentle grin playing on Will’s lips. “Yeah, I figured. You talk about him a lot.”

She can’t help but chuckle, her thumb absentmindedly caressing Fitz’s frozen face on the screen.

“His name is like your favorite word,” Will remarks and Jemma’s mind wants to agree with him, wholeheartedly.

“I mean, that’s a little bit more than a best friend,” Will adds.

_Of course he is_ , a voice inside her head screams aloud. _You’re more than my best friend, Fitz. So much more._

But then. There are so many questions unanswered, a conversation that never happened, a clarification they’d never been able to reach.

She shrugs, trying to come up with an answer that’s adequate without being presumptuous. “We’re inseparable.” She hears herself chuckling shyly. “Well, we were. And… well… there was… we had… the night before… well… we did… but we… well… and… it was only one night and I thought that… but we never got a chance to talk about… and—”

She freezes, every hair in her body standing on edge as the puzzle pieces slowly fall into place.

They’d had one night.

One night. Two months ago.

Jemma feels her stomach tighten, her eyes staring at a single point in front of her as her breathing becomes more and more frantic, as her heart beats quicker with every piece of evidence her brain puts in its place.

“You okay?” Will’s voice sounds like an echo in her spiralling mind.

She stares at him wide-eyed, before pushing herself up to standing, looking around the cave in panic, before running for the ladder and climbing up to the top.

“Hey!” she hears him calling after her. “Jemma!”

She pushes the metal cover open and climbs outside. She crawls as far away from the entrance as her trembling legs will take her before she can’t hold in the gush of vomit any longer.

“Oh God,” she whimpers in disbelief before another wave of nausea hits her. “Oh God, no.”

She flinches when she feels Will’s hand on her back, her own only narrowly avoiding the acidic puddle in front of her as she shifts her position.

“What’s going on?”

She barely hears his question, her mind still trying to bring order into the chaos. She reaches for her forehead, rubbing it vigorously, trying to counteract the sudden onset of a headache.

“God, it all makes sense now,” she mutters to herself. “I mean… I thought the nausea was from hunger, the fatigue, the exhaustion. It all fit. And the constant urination. I mean, with the dehydration and the swimming in that god-awful filthy pond… I thought it was a UTI. I mean. It all made sense. And… and, yes, I’ve been emotional, but… who wouldn’t? I mean, stranded on a desert planet, the fear of death, hunger, thirst. I mean. All these symptoms. They… I just thought it was all connected to… and… and the missing periods… I mean… in my situation. Malnutrition? Starvation, really? Dehydration? _Of course_ the body would shut down the reproductive tract. It’s not essential. _Survival_ is essential. Redirecting resources to more important systems… I… I thought that’s why I… I mean there was some spotting, but that… that can of course be normal early during… and… God, how did I not see that sooner… I mean, of course. We slept together and I was taken here the next day, so I couldn’t… I missed all the following doses… and… gosh, with everything that was going on before then, I may have… God, I think I missed one or two before then even… Ugh. I _never_. I mean, I usually take my pill like _clockwork_ , but… but I mean… there was no way… There was just no way… It… It all makes sense now. Ugh! How did I not—”

She looks up in surprise when she feels Will’s hands gripping her shoulders tightly. She’d forgotten that he was still there.

“Okay, hold your horses.” He stares at her wide-eyed. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

His face looks a bit blurry, her eyes hiding behind a thin curtain of tears. Somehow she manages to nod. “I’m pregnant.”

His mouth gapes slightly ajar, his head bobbing up and down ever so slightly.

For a while, the wind gently blowing around them is the only source of sound as the two kneeling figures try to come to terms with the unexpected revelation.

A new symptom checker runs through Jemma’s mind as the spinning in her head slightly subsides.

Missed periods. Check.  
Morning sickness (mild). Check.  
Fatigue. Check.  
Irritability. Check.  
Frequent urination. Check.  
Spotting. Check.  
Mood swings. Check.  
Weight gain. Check(ish).

She reaches for the neck opening of her tank top, pulling it forward and staring down at her chest. “They’ve been kind of painful, too.” Absentmindedly, she cups her breasts, feeling their tenderness. “And engorged. Makes sense now.”

She looks up when she hears Will clear his throat and finds him with his eyes fixed on the sand. “No offense, but if you could _not_ do that in front of me, that’d be great.”

She lets go of her breasts as if they’d suddenly caught fire. “Right. My apologies.”

Slowly, he lifts his gaze, his mouth pulled into a sympathetic one-sided smile.

Jemma lets out a shaky breath, her eyes blinking rapidly, trying to fight back tears. She lifts her shoulders. “What now?”

Will scoots a bit closer, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. “Well. Congratulations, I suppose.”

“Congratulations?” She can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “Will, I’m _pregnant_. On an alien planet. A _desert_ , alien planet. With food that is significantly lacking in nutrition. With _no_ sunlight. With _no_ idea how to get home! How am I supposed to do this? I… I _can’t_ do this.”

“Hey!” He squeezes her shoulder a bit more tightly, tilting his head so he can look at her. “We got like seven months or so to figure this out, right?”

“That’s your genius reply? We have seven months?”

He shrugs. “Hey, you can’t expect me to take over the voice of hope duties and immediately excel at it.”

She can’t help but chuckle, while at the same time her body is shaken with sobs. She leans closer against him. “Ugh. What do I do?”

“What would Fitz tell you?”

She looks up at Will, surprised by his question.

Then a smile flashes across her face. “If you can’t solve a problem, sleep on it.”

Will clicks his tongue. “Man after my own heart.”

Slowly he gets up and extends his hand in her direction, pulling her up to standing.

“Sorry to say though.” He tilts his head. “You’re probably gonna have to skip that glass of wine when we get back to Earth.”

She laughs out loud, nodding in agreement, reaching up to wipe away a few stray tears. “I suppose so. Truffle fries should still be fine, though.”

“That’s the spirit!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split Chapter 4 in two (thus, estimated chapter count went up to 12)
> 
> Still pretty close to canon, in case you're wondering. Obviously with one major change ;)

It had been more than two months since Jemma had realized she was pregnant.

One thousand five hundred and twenty hours to be precise.

Which means it had been three thousand and ten hours since the monolith had taken her.

Which means it had been about three thousand and twenty four hours since she and Fitz had slept together.

Three thousand and twenty four hours since his sperm had begun its ascent through her reproductive tract, traveling through her uterus to the ampulla where it had fertilized her ovum approximately three thousand and fourteen hours ago.

Three thousand and fourteen hours.

Eighteen weeks.

Eighteen weeks since the zero point.

Although, obviously, since the gestational age was most commonly used she’d be considered twenty weeks pregnant.

Half-point.

She was at the half-point of her pregnancy.

Still on an alien planet.

Still eating plant-porridge and drinking questionable water.

Still sleeping in an underground cave surrounded by fourteen-year old NASA equipment and one grumpy astronaut.

Still reading log after log and report after report.

Still trying to convince Will to tell her more about his experience, to show her more of the planet.

Day in and day out.

Hour after hour.

Three thousand and ten hours since the portal had spit her out into the desert sand.

Eighteen weeks.

More than four months.

Half a pregnancy.

Frustrated she knocks over the papers on her makeshift desk, before pushing herself up to standing, rubbing her temples to counteract the dull headache that’s been forming from reading in the dimly lit cave for too long. “Damnit! Fitz, what are we missing? If there is a way in there has to be a way out!”

“Everything okay?” Will asks from where he sits in front of the reflective astronaut helmet, trimming his beard.

“No, it’s _not_ okay.” Jemma paces back and forth, before returning to the desk, leaning down to stare at the map in front of her for what seems like the thousandth time. “I’ve been going over and over this research for over two months, and I’m still no closer to an answer.”

She straightens up and groans, pushing her hands against her lower back to try and ease her back pain.

“Well, why don’t we go outside, go for a little walk?” Will mumbles a half-hearted suggestion.

Her fingers glide over the black ink on the slightly yellowed paper. “I want to go to the no-fly zone.”

Jemma turns to face Will, but he doesn’t even look up, doesn’t even interrupt his grooming efforts.

“We’ve been over this a hundred times,” he mutters, staring at his own reflection in the visor of his helmet. “You’re not going out there. That’s a bad place.”

“The answer might be there. I’m tired of sitting around and waiting!”

Jemma flinches when he suddenly jumps up, slamming his fist on the box the helmet is resting on. “Nothing is out there except for death!” he yells, walking over until he stops in front of her. “I told you, that’s where they all went right before—”

“It’s a coincidence!” she interrupts him, pressing the heels of her hands against her forehead. She turns around, clenching her fists in frustration, trying to calm her breathing, calm her voice before turning back to face him. “There could be something there.”

He points at her with his index finger, protective big brother behavior at its best. “You are _not_ going. We made a deal to keep each other in check.”

“’In check’ doesn’t mean you get to keep me as your prisoner.” She walks by him, grabbing her bag from the table in passing, trying to head out to the main cave.

“Have you forgotten you’re pregnant?”

Jemma freezes at his ridiculous question. She turns back around to face him, glaring at him in anger.

His finger is still darting in her direction. “Think of your _baby_ for a second here, Jemma!” He gestures past her towards the exit. “You can’t just go out and risk your life and the baby’s life because you’re getting antsy!”

Jemma takes a step forward, every muscle in her body tense, almost painfully so. “Of course I haven’t forgotten that I’m pregnant!” she growls through her teeth, before throwing one hand in the air. “How _could_ I when I have to climb up that _stupid_ ladder every forty-five minutes because I have to pee? How _could_ I when my stomach is growing but my pants are most _certainly_ not growing along with it!”

Jemma pulls up her tanktop slightly, revealing her small pronounced bump and her unbuttoned and unzipped fly. Will squints, seemingly pondering her current wardrobe predicament, before slowly raising his eyes to look back at her.

Angrily, Jemma tucks down the hem of her tank. “I haven’t forgotten that I’m pregnant, Will, and I _am_ thinking of my baby.” She shrugs, her hands gesturing wildly. “It’s _all_ I think about!”

She pauses, exhaling an angry puff of air, before taking another step closer to him, ramming her finger into his chest. “How _dare_ you try to tell me otherwise! You’re damn right I’m _pregnant_! And do you have _any_ idea what being on this planet could mean for this baby?”

She gestures at herself, keeping her eyes fixed on his. “Because _I_ do! Because my _bloody_ photographic memory remembers _every_ goddamn article my eyes have _ever_ come across. And I’ve read about just about _every_ aspect of human biology you’ve ever heard of, and probably some that you haven’t. So, I know! I _know_ what it means, Will! The dehydration and starvation I suffered during the first trimester when the fetus is at its most vulnerable. The lack of nutritional food. The lack of sunlight. Iron deficiency. Vitamin D. B12. Folate. Stress. Anxiety.”

Jemma reaches up, angrily wiping away the single tear that had dared break her carefully built barrier. “The baby’s growth could be affected. Amniotic fluid levels could be too low. It could have birth defects. Heart defects. Congenital brain defects. Developmental delays. Underdeveloped lungs. It could be born prematurely. I could _lose_ it, Will! The baby could _die_ while we’re wasting time in this _bloody_ cave twiddling our thumbs!”

She can barely keep her breathing steady at this point, her heart beating frantically in her chest as she continues to yell at the man in front of her. “I _need_ to get off this stupid planet! I _need_ to go home! I needed to go home _four_ months ago! I’ve exhausted _every_ possible resource, _every_ research within my reach, I’ve searched _every_ corner of this planet you’ve so graciously allowed me to explore. I’ve been _everywhere_ except the no-fly zone! The answer could be there!”

She spins around and storms off towards the main cave, angrily pushing open the curtain that separates the two rooms, before heading straight for the ladder, ignoring his plea to stop.

* * *

When Jemma finds the sextant and realization hits her that she may have just figured out a way to get them home, she’s filled with joy, ecstatic almost.

“The stars! Fitz! That’s the answer!”

Then she hears the rumbling and sees the sand cloud rushing towards her. She starts running, but the storm catches up with her, throwing her down the dune. Instinctively, she reaches for her stomach, trying to catch her breath, trying to discern if she’d broken anything, hurt herself, hurt the baby, if she’s bleeding.

Then she notices the skeletons surrounding her. She scoots away in panic but freezes when her eyes catch sight of the dark, hooded figure walking towards her, ragged worn pieces of cloth blowing away from its mysterious, almost shapeless body.

_It._

It’s real.

She scrambles to get up and starts running. She runs until her lungs burn, her pregnancy making it harder for her to keep up the pace, her head constantly darting back to see if she is being followed. She runs, and runs, and screams for Will to open the door as soon as she gets closer to their base, telling him that It’s coming.

She’s relieved when her feet touch the safe ground of their cave. She’s even a bit excited to have actual proof of _Its_ existence rather than only having to take Will’s word for it.

Then relief and excitement turn into anger when Will admits that he’d known there had been others, that he’d known about the mass grave, and hadn’t told her.

“How long have people known about the Monolith, and why keep sending people when there’s no way back? It’s as if they’re being sacrificed.”

He stares back at her from where he’d slumped down on a chair. “I’d prefer not to join them. So from now on, will you just _please_ stay put?”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” she replies, grinning mischievously and rummaging through her bag.

“Why?”

She holds up the sextant, triumphantly, smiling wider than she had in weeks. “’Cause I know how to get us home.”

* * *

“If we track the stars long enough, we can determine the rate of the planet’s rotation and predict when and where the portal will appear,” Jemma concludes the explanatory introduction to her plan.

“With _that_ thing?” Will asks skeptically, pointing at the sextant in Jemma’s hand.

“Not with this. With _that_ ,” she corrects him, gesturing towards the NASA computers piled up against the wall of the cave.

Will scoffs. “Assuming we could even fix that heap of junk, there’s no way to power it.”

Jemma grins back at him, the rush of excitement over her new-found solution running through every vein in her body, energizing her in a way she hadn’t felt in months. “Yes, there is.”

She puts down the sextant and picks up her mobile phone from the table. “I have enough battery left to get the data we need.”

Will takes a few steps closer, his eyes shining with concern. “If we use up your battery and this doesn’t work... That’s the end of Fitz and all your friends.”

Jemma takes a deep breath, before shrugging slightly, her eyes falling to the broken screen of her phone. “That’s a risk I have to take,” she remarks quietly before looking back at Will. “It’s our _only_ chance, Will. I _need_ to get us home. _All_ of us.”

She looks down, her free hand reaching for her stomach, stroking it gently. She blinks, noticing her vision becoming slightly blurry as tears fill her eyes. “I mean, here… what chance would the baby have here? I—” She exhales sharply, forcing her eyes back on Will. “This _has_ to work. It _has_ to.”

One corner of Will’s mouth quirks up and he nods ever so slightly. “Alright.”

She smiles, sighing in relief. “Thank you.”

Will raises his index finger. “One thing before we get started.”

“Oh?”

He turns half-around as if to leave, before turning his head back in her direction. “I… well, your little medical lecture earlier got me thinking.”

He walks over to one of the crates in the far corner of the cave, Jemma following him in slight confusion.

He looks at her, his expression full of sincerity. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through obviously, _but_ I understand that you’re scared for yourself _and_ your baby. And—” He shrugs. “Well, there’s unfortunately nothing I can do to improve the nutritional value of the food or anything like that, but I have something for you that might help with another problem you’re facing.”

Jemma wrinkles her forehead as Will bends down to open the crate. “What?”

He grabs something from the container and straightens up, turning around to present her with a stack of clothes.

Jemma stares at him wide-eyed, her mouth slightly ajar.

Will gestures at her with his head to take the stack from him. “Brubaker was the shortest of us. Skinniest too. His clothes never fit me, so they’ve been lying around ever since he—” He clears his throat, abandoning the sentence.

A faint smile flashes across Jemma’s face and, somewhat hesitantly, she reaches for the sweatpants on top of the pile, letting them unfold and holding them in front of herself.

Will shrugs apologetically. “Might still be a bit long, but we can cut them. They have a string, so you can make them as tight or loose as you want, wear them over your bump, or under, or whatever is most comfortable. And if you feel like your tank is getting too short, you can take one of his shirts.”

Jemma feels her chin quivering, her lips twitching nervously somewhere between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry with gratefulness. She rolls up the sweatpants and takes the other clothes from Will, barely managing to look him in the eye as she mumbles a quiet “Thank you.”

Will scoffs, trying to hide a smile. He gestures towards the main cave with his head. “How ‘bout I start dinner, you put on these, and after that we start working on getting the computer to work?”

Jemma nods, the corners of her mouth pulling almost to her ears. “Sounds like a solid plan.”

* * *

“Ugh!” she grunts, entering the main cave a few minutes later, the hem of the much too long sweatpants dragging across the floor, the grey waffle-knit fabric of the thermal shirt she’d chosen stretching over her pregnant belly. She slumps her shoulders, stretching out her hands like a mummy in an old Hollywood horror movie, the long sleeves of the shirt covering her hands (even the one holding onto her phone). “I look ridiculous.”

Will stops cutting the root in front of him and looks up at her, before shrugging his shoulders, gesturing at himself with his knife. “You’re talking to a man whose last pair of underpants dissolved into nothingness god knows how long ago.”

Jemma scrunches her nose in disgust. She walks to their dinner table and lets herself plop down on the chair, looking away from Will and holding out one hand to cover her side-ways vision, resting the one holding her phone on the table. “I did _not_ need to know that thank you very much.”

Will chuckles quietly. He grabs a bottle of water and comes over, setting it on the table.

“So, you’re really sure about this?” He nods at her phone and then in the direction of the computers.

Jemma nods, confidently. “Yes. Let’s eat and then we can get started.”

“The sooner the better, I guess.”

“Exactly.”

She pauses, her eyes wandering to her phone. She sighs. “I… I just need to do one more thing.” She clears her throat and gets up, smiling shyly before walking to the ladder. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Will looks at her in slight confusion, but mutters a quiet “Alright” in reply.

* * *

She sits in the sand outside the cave’s entrance, her hands slightly trembling as she watches the video, feeling a sad smile adorning her lips.

“Happy birthday, Jemma. It’s not the same without you here. Say hi to your parents for me, and I’ll see you soon.”

She goes to her gallery, selecting the photograph of him, her thumb gently caressing his hair, cheek, his shoulder.

“I… I’ll admit that I’m a bit scared of seeing you, Fitz. Or, well, rather _you_ seeing _this_.” She smiles, gesturing at her swollen stomach, exhaling a shaky breath. “But… but part of me can’t wait for you to see it either.”

She chuckles, before rolling her eyes. “Ugh. Pregnancy really plays a number on you, Fitz. I’m an emotional mess. They’re not kidding about that.”

Slowly Jemma fills her lungs with air, before releasing it through rounded lips. His face has become blurry and she lets her thumb glide across his features as if somehow the picture was the reason for his blurriness rather than the tears in her eyes.

She furrows her brows in thought. “But… but it’ll be alright, won’t it, Fitz? I know it’ll come as a shock, but… but we’ll figure it out, right? You and I? Like we always do? We… we’ll talk and… and it’ll be alright.” She pauses and nods, to reassure herself as much as him. “It’ll be alright.”

She sniffles, wiping away a few stray tears with the back of her hand, before smiling once more at Fitz’s photograph. “Goodbye, Fitz. I’ll see you soon.”

She looks up, her eyes wandering across the desert landscape bathed in a dark blue, across the horizon, the two moons, the billions of stars that will help them find a way home, before landing on her stomach. A faint, optimistic smile flashes across her face as she caresses her little bump. “Let’s get ready to go home, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You won't have to wait long for Chapter 5. It's done. Just gonna keep you waiting a day or so, 'cause I'm mean ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can all thank @racheltheclumsy for convincing (bribing) me to post Chapter 5 the same day as Chapter 4. [Unfortunately, the other chapters aren't done yet, so now you'll have to wait a few days until I get a chance to write Chapter 6 ;) ]

It takes them almost a full week and several expletives that Jemma generally reserves for very special occasions to get the computer to work, but when the screen finally flickers on showing the Pathfinder logo, tears of joy snake down her cheeks and laughter fills the cave as she hugs Will tightly.

She enters the data they had collected about the stars and their movements over the past few days. And then the waiting begins.

Two hours. Three hours. Four hours. Five.

Two days. Three days. Four days. Five.

She spends every waking moment in front of the screen, taking notes, entering more data, watching the numbers run as if her presence would somehow help to make the program run faster.

A metal clank right next to her interrupts her wandering thoughts.

“You know what they say about a watched pot, right?”

Jemma rolls her eyes in Will’s direction, taking the plate and glass of water he’d put on the table and moving them to the other side instead, before her eyes land back on the screen. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her hand moving to her hip, pressing slightly into her side with the heel of her hand. She tries to stifle a groan by keeping her jaw clenched tight, but can’t stop from grimacing in pain.

“You okay?”

“Yes.” Jemma straightens up, scooting her bum a few more times side to side on the chair until she feels more comfortable again, her eyes never losing sight of the numbers on the computer. “It’s just pelvic pain. Very common during pregnancy. Or… or maybe some Braxton Hicks contractions. It’s fine.”

“Did you just say _contractions_?”

She feels his hand on her shoulder, pushing back slightly to try and get her to look up. Reluctantly, she complies.

“Braxton Hicks contractions.” She repeats it slowly, annoyance audible in every syllable. “ _False_ contractions. _Practice_ contractions. Completely normal. Nothing to worry about.”

He stares at her in disbelief, his hand still firmly rooted on her shoulder. “Nothing to—? Nothing to—? _Ugh!_ ”

He straightens up, clenching his fists, his body visibly tense. He turns side to side as if unsure of what to do, before facing back at her. “Do you realize that my team consisted of four _men_? Midwifery wasn’t exactly part of my training. So could you _please_ try not to have the baby here?”

“First of all, I’m not having the baby right now. Like I said: it’s pelvic pain. Completely normal! Even if it _were_ Braxton Hicks. _Still_ completely normal. But sure, in case the baby decides to come, I’ll just _hold it in._ ” She yells the last words sarcastically, keeping her eyes fixed on Will.

His nostrils flare and his eyes are fiery with frustration. He points at the plate and cup on her desk. “At least eat and drink something.”

She realizes that maybe she’s acting a bit childish when she demonstratively picks up the water and takes _one_ sip while glaring at him snarkily before placing the cup forcefully back on the table, but, damnit, _she’s_ the pregnant woman in the room and she knows best what she can and cannot handle and she can make her own decisions for crying out loud. “There. Now find something better to do!”

Will shakes his head in resignation and leaves.

* * *

It’s been another four hours at least and the numbers and star constellations on the screen seem to merge into a single blurry blob in front of Jemma’s eyes. She blinks, shakes her head to wake up, rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands, before closing them briefly, bending her neck side to side to stretch.

Her eyes shoot open when she hears the repeated beeping through the speakers. Frantically, she grabs a piece of paper and scribbles down the results flashing on the screen.

She starts to laugh, her hand reaching for her chest trying to calm down her excited heartbeat. “Will! _Will!_ We got one! We got a date and location!”

The curtains swing open and Will rushes in. “What?”

Jemma smiles at him widely, holding up the piece of paper. “We got a date and a location!”

He steps closer, taking the note from her, grinning from ear to ear while staring down at it. He places his hand on her back, looking down at her with pride. “You’re a genius.”

“I know,” Jemma replies cockily, turning her head to look back at the computer screen.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

She glances back at Will, gesturing at the screen. “Keeping my eyes on the computer. The program is still running. It took _five_ days to get _one_ result, but if we’re lucky then it will spit out another result before my phone dies. I have to make sure I don’t miss that. The battery is almost depleted.”

Will squints, his eyes wandering to the untouched plate and water cup, before landing on her face. The way he seems to study her makes Jemma look away uncomfortably.

“Your lips are completely dry. You didn’t even touch the food or the water, did you?”

Jemma exhales sharply, her eyes fixed on the computer screen, feeling his burn a hole into the side of her face.

“Take a break!” Jemma’s muscles tighten and she clenches her jaw at the way Will raises his voice. “You need to drink more. And when was the last time you’ve eaten _anything_?”

“God, you sound like my mother!” Jemma growls through gritted teeth, never taking her eyes off the numbers running across the screen.

“Hey,” she exclaims in protest when Will grabs the chair by its armrests, lifting both the chair and her and turning them by ninety degrees before putting them back down on the floor.

She tries to look away, back at the screen, but when he grabs her shoulders firmly, shaking her upper body, her head darts in his direction, her eyes glaring at him in anger, her lips parting, preparing to give him a piece of her mind.

“Damn right I sound like your mother,” he yells before she can get a word out. “I’ll sound like your mother, and your father, and your brother, and… and I’ll sound like _him_!” He lets go of her shoulders and straightens up. “Do you think Fitz would want you to do this to yourself? To ignore your own needs? Your _baby’s_ needs? _Huh?_ ”

Jemma pushes herself out of the chair, her index finger darting forward to poke Will’s chest. “Don’t you _dare_ tell me what Fitz would want. You don’t know him. You have _no_ idea! I need to get us _home_. I… It can’t be born here. It _can’t_. _You_ said that yourself not too long ago! I… I have to—”

“Yes, but you also have to—” He pauses, inhaling a deep breath. “Okay… here—”

Jemma flinches back for a moment, when he reaches for both of her wrists, but his eyes look at her softly and so she relaxes, watching him closely as he guides her hands to her stomach.

“Put your hands on your belly. Okay.”

She stares down at his hands covering hers, feeling her palms pressed flat against her abdomen.

“Feel that little bump!” His voice is calm and quiet, soothing almost. “Remember how it’s been growing? How there’s a human being growing inside of you?”

Jemma presses her lips together, her eyes blinking rapidly. Her chin begins to quiver as she prepares to speak. She exhales a shaky breath and wets her lips. “I… I haven’t even felt it move! I… I should feel it move!”

Her hand darts to her face, somehow thinking she can wipe away her tears before Will can notice them. “Approximately between the sixteenth and twenty-second week of gestation. I’m… I’m at twenty weeks. I… I think I should feel it move. What if… What if it’s already—?”

The sobs shaking her body make it impossible for her to continue. She closes her eyes, feeling tears drip from her cheeks to the floor.

“No. Don’t go there!” Will gently squeezes her shoulders, and slowly Jemma opens her eyes, lifting her head high enough that she can see the reassuring look on his face.

“Doom is my specialty, remember? You’re not allowed to go there.”

Almost involuntary, Jemma’s lips pull into a trembling smile.

Will removes one hand from her shoulders and points it towards her stomach instead. “ _That_ bump has been growing, okay? That’s why you’re wearing Brubaker’s ugly sweats, remember?”

A weak chuckle escapes her. She nods, biting her lower lip to stop from crying.

Will places both hands back on her shoulders, giving them another squeeze, while his kind eyes focus on her. “And _that_ bump. Right there. That’s your hope, Jemma! That’s what has kept you going! Making sure that this baby is born on Earth. Getting back to Fitz. Letting him know that he’ll be a father! That you two are having a baby together no matter how unplanned that may have been! _That_ bump, _that_ baby has been your hope, your driving force! _I_ lost my hope. I _had_ hope, and I _starved_ it and all that was left was _doom_ and _pessimism_ , until you and that little monkey showed up and ignited a new shimmer of hope in me. You and your stubborn optimism! And your little growing bump there! _That_ bump is your hope. And you can’t let it starve, Jemma. Literally _and_ figuratively speaking. You have to take care of it. You have to _feed_ it! That’s your _hope_! You _need_ it! _We_ need it!”

He gestures at the computer with his head, never taking his eyes off hers. “Yes, you need to do _this_ and find our way back, but you _also_ need to stay strong enough to actually accomplish that. So let me _help_. Eat. Drink. Sleep. Just for an _hour_. Tell me what to look for and let _me_ watch that damn computer run the numbers! You need to keep your hope alive or you will die with it! And I know that’s harsh, but you need to hear that.”

She nods, sniffling a bit more and shrugging apologetically. “It’ll beep. The computer will beep when it’s calculated a new time and location.”

Will chuckles, lifting his shoulders. “Well, I have ears.”

Jemma can’t help but laugh out loud, wiping away the last traces of tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Will.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Don’t be sorry. Just, take your mother’s advice,” he says, pointing at himself with both thumbs.

Another laugh bubbles to the surface. She takes a deep breath. “Why don’t we go with big brother? You remind me of Liam anyways.”

“Fine. Have it your way,” Will jokes, grinning one-sidedly.

A sudden realization hits Jemma and she wrinkles her forehead. “Did you call the baby ‘little monkey’?”

Will purses his lips, shrugging slightly. “Think so.”

The corners of Jemma’s mouth pull up to her ears and she sighs happily. “Oh, Fitz would love that. He _loves_ monkeys. Always wanted one for the lab. I mean, not to do experiments on, of course, but—”

She gasps, her hands instinctively reaching for her stomach.

“What?” Will stares at her wide-eyed and full of concern.

“It moved!” Jemma looks from her stomach back to Will, unable to keep from smiling. “I… I felt it move, Will!”

His expression immediately relaxes. “Really?”

“Yes. Like a little—” Another excited gasp escapes her lips. She grabs his hand and places it on her stomach. “There!”

Will furrows his brows in concentration, lowering his head as if her were trying to hear the baby move. After several silent moments, he shakes his head. “I don’t feel any—Oh.” He pauses, tilting his head to look back up at Jemma. “You sure that’s not just… gas.”

Jemma shakes her head vigorously. “No… no. I… I know it’s—”

“Whoa.” He straightens up, removing his hand from her stomach and pointing at it instead. “Yeah, that does _not_ feel like gas. Wow.”

Jemma can’t help but laugh happily as her hands move back to her little bump, feeling the little flutters against her palms. “I know. Oh, Fitz… Oh, I wish Fitz could feel this.”

She feels another wave of tears bubbling to the surface, notices how it becomes harder to breathe, her mind and body torn between excitement and sadness.

“Hey hey hey!” Will’s voice is calm and reassuring. He stretches out his arms and Jemma welcomes his invitation for a hug, resting her head against his chest, while her arms wrap around his waist. She feels his hand gently stroking her hair. “He will. Okay! We have the time and coordinates for the next portal already, and maybe by the time you wake up the computer will have spit out another result.”

His hands move to her shoulders, pushing her back slightly. Somewhat reluctantly, Jemma opens her eyes to look at him.

A hint of a friendly smile is playing on Will’s lips and he gives her shoulders another squeeze. “But for now: Eat. Drink. Sleep. Deal?”

Jemma sighs, nodding in agreement. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and the many kudos and the patience ;)


	6. Chapter 6

She does eat, drink, and sleep (most certainly for more than an hour), but when she wakes up Will is still staring at the computer screen, the numbers still running, no new result to report. At least, her phone’s battery hasn’t given up on them yet.

They take turns watching the computer, and it’s almost five days later when the long-awaited beep echoes through the small side-chamber of their cave. Jemma barely manages to scribble down the date and coordinates before the computer screen goes dark.

She inhales sharply, somewhere between excitement and shock, and the sudden noise seems to be enough to wake up Will, who’d fallen asleep playing his ‘bored game’.

“What happened?” he mumbles, sleepily.

“The phone died, but it’s in a better place now,” Jemma replies, getting up from her chair and walking over to where the map of the area is lying on one of the crates.

Will scrambles to get up. “Get another one?”

“Yes!” Jemma confirms, her eyes already wandering over the sheet of paper with the stylized landscape.

“The first portal opens sixteen days from now… there.” She points at a spot at the bottom of the map. “The second one forty-six days later… over here.” Her finger moves to a location close to their camp.

Will sighs in resignation. “Did it have to be there? That’s the no-fly zone. It’s a forty-hour hike, at least. There’s a canyon thirty meters wide waiting for us. It’s impossible to cross, Jemma. We’ll never make it. Why don’t we just wait for the second one? It’s close to here. It’ll be safer.”

Jemma shakes her head. “No, it won’t be. Not for me, Will.” She gestures down at herself. “I’m _twenty-two_ weeks pregnant. By the time the _second_ portal opens, I’ll be at _thirty_ weeks! You’ve said it yourself, you’re _not_ trained to be a midwife and this planet is most certainly _not_ the right place for this baby to be born. I’ve told you, with everything my body has gone through—the stress, dehydration, malnutrition—chances are this baby _will_ come early! If I have the opportunity to get home in _sixteen_ days rather than _sixty-two_ , I’m taking it! And _you_ need to help me! Me _and_ that little monkey!”

She shrugs, sighing deeply. “I realize that if we can’t cross that canyon then we _will_ have to wait until that second portal opens anyways, but… but we _have to_ try and get through that first portal. Please, Will.”

He exhales sharply, squinting his eyes and wrinkling his forehead.

Jemma crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Didn’t you say you can’t resist doing something when the odds are impossible?”

He shakes his head, unable to hide the hint of a smile. “I knew that snake would come back to bite me.”

“Got two weeks, fly boy,” she teases him, slapping him on his shoulder before heading towards the main cave. “Figure it out.”

“Hey, genius!” Will calls after her, and Jemma turns back around.

“Yes?”

“Not to remain firmly rooted in pessimist’s land, but your phone died, which means our _only_ way to track time just died.” He lifts his shoulders. “I’m not exactly keen on heading to the no-fly zone right _now_ to camp out there for two weeks until the portal opens.”

Jemma slumps her shoulders, rolling her eyes in disbelief. “Oh _please_. Do you _really_ think I didn’t take that into consideration?”

Curiously, Will raises his eyebrows.

Jemma takes a step back into the small cave. “We may not be able to track time down to the second or minute anymore, but there very well _is_ a way to measure approximate hours and days in Earth increments.”

“There is?”

“Yes. Of course, Will!” Jemma gestures towards the ceiling of the cave. “The stars! The moons! We’ve been tracking their movements and while we were at it, I paid close attention to their movements in correlation with the hours that passed. So, using the very same stars and moons that are helping us get home, I can tell you—roughly—how many hours pass.”

“I’ve lived on this planet for fourteen years—” Will’s mouth gapes slightly ajar.

Jemma shrugs. “Yes, quite frankly, I’m a _bit_ disappointed in NASA’s recruitment standards considering that in a team of _four_ astronauts, where _three_ were scientists and one an airforce pilot, not _one_ had the idea to maybe use the stars and moons as a point of reference to keep track of time. Haven’t you _ever_ used the Big Dipper and the North Star to create an imaginary clock? Or learned how to tell time by looking at the moon? I mean, that’s rudimentary science at its most basic if you ask me.”

“Rub it in, will ‘ya?” Will shakes his head, chuckling quietly. “The batteries in our watches were designed to last five years. I think it never occurred to us we might need an alternative and—”

“Bloody amateurs.” Jemma can’t help but tease him a little longer, raising her index finger for emphasis. “Preparation is _key_. Mark my word.”

Will brings his hand up to his temple for a brief salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh shut up,” Jemma manages to exclaim before bursting out in laughter.

* * *

Jemma tightens the knots on both pant legs one final time before standing up, readjusting the waistband and pulling down her shirt. “What do you think?”

“Huh?” Will mutters absentmindedly and looks up from where he’s sitting in the sand, whittling next to the camp fire.

“What do you think?” Jemma repeats, gesturing at herself.

Will wrinkles his forehead in confusion. “’Bout what?”

“My outfit.”

He shakes his head slightly. “What about it?”

“Ugh.” Jemma slumps her shoulders, bringing one leg forward to give Will a better look. “I tore the bottom of the pants and tied them up at my calves, so they don’t dangle down so much.” She stretches out her arms. “I folded up the sleeves of the shirt and made thumb holes. All-in-all, I think this will be _much_ more convenient and comfortable for our upcoming hiking trip to the canyon _and_ I don’t feel quite like a scarecrow anymore. Don’t you think?”

Will’s eyebrows rise almost to his hairline. “What am I, editor of Vogue now?”

“Ugh.” Jemma rolls her eyes and sits back down in the sand, leaning back against the dune to look up at the sky. “Well, _I_ think it’s a major improvement,” she mutters to herself, ignoring Will’s teasing chuckle that follows.

For a few minutes they sit in silence, the only sound coming from the crackling camp fire.

“So, question, professor ... why science?”

Jemma sits up, turning her head. “What?”

Will looks up from his whittling project, waving his knife in the air towards the horizon. “How’d you figure all this out? The planets, the math—”

Jemma smiles almost involuntarily at the memory. “Scoliosis.”

“Oh-kay.”

Jemma chuckles briefly, realizing full well that she’ll have to give him more of an explanation. She leans back in the sand, looking up at the stars, her hand absentmindedly gliding up and down her stomach. “I had scoliosis as a kid. I had a small surgery to correct it. I was flat on my back for a few weeks, so to help combat the boredom, every night, my father would wheel my bed out and talk about the stars.”

“Nice job, dad.”

A smile flashes over her face and she mumbles a quiet “Yeah,” before her eyes glaze over as her mind pulls up another memory.

“After Fitz and I became friends, we realized one day that we probably looked at the same stars, the same meteor showers, maybe even the exact same meteor at the exact same moment back then, only three hundred and thirty kilometers as the crow flies apart. Two awkward kids with barely any friends—one in Glasgow and one in Sheffield—hoping that maybe somewhere out there in the world was someone just as weird as them who might just understand them.”

“Well, looks like those awkward kids found each other,” Will remarks, his head still buried in his whittling project.

Jemma chuckles quietly, noticing her eyes well up. “Yes. They did.”

“So, Fitz’s dad take him stargazing like yours?”

Jemma scoffs. “God no.”

She notices that the sound of Will’s knife shaving off pieces of bamboo in his hands suddenly stops.

“Fitz’s dad was… he was—” She clenches her jaw, trying to suppress her anger, unsure of how to formulate her hate for Fitz’s father into words. In the end she decides there is no adequate way.

“He left when Fitz was ten,” she offers as a brief explanation. “But his mum signed him up for the Scouts right after that. The Cubs go on little camping adventures. Fitz was almost too old for the Cubs, but his mum thought it would be good for him. He mostly hated it, because the other kids… well, they didn’t get him and he didn’t get them either. But he loved learning about how to build a compass with nothing but a cork, a needle and a bowl of water, how to build a fire, learning more about the stars… or rubbing his already superior science knowledge into the snobbish kids’ faces.”

She has to pause her story when Will starts laughing out loud and she can’t help but join him.

Jemma inhales deeply to calm herself, wiping away some tears of laughter. “In the end, he enjoyed it _far_ more than he cared to admit.”

“Well in that case, nice job, Fitz’s mom.”

Jemma smiles. “Most certainly. Fitz’s mum… well, she’s no scientist, but… but she loves him _so_ much and she would do _anything_ for him. I’ve never met anyone with a heart as big as hers… except maybe her son.” Jemma exhales a shaky breath, overwhelmed by her emotions, her hands running over her stomach.

“He’ll be a great father,” she mutters quietly, more to herself and her growing bump than to Will.

* * *

They’re outside their cave. Jemma sits on one of the boxes Will had carried up, a canteen with water in hand, ready, set, go to embark on their hike to the canyon.

Will’s holding a disassembled telescope in his hands, shouldering it to glance through the finder scope. “So, the portal opens, we just jump right through, go with the flow?”

“It doesn’t stay open very long.” She hands Will the water as she continues explaining her plan. “So in case there’s no time for that—” She bends down, picking up the glass bottle she’d prepared. “—we send a message in a bottle. Then Fitz will know we’re coming with the next portal and they can get everything ready. Maybe even figure out a way to open it sooner or keep it open longer.”

“I’m glad that thing sent you over here and not the janitor,” Will jokes, handing back the canteen.

“Thanks.” Jemma stands up, looking skeptically at the telescope in Will’s hands. “How exactly is this supposed to get us across the canyon?”

“Well.” He picks up a grappling hook from the ground. “I’m gonna shoot _this_ into the wall across the canyon... And we’re gonna slide across on the rope.”

For a moment, Jemma stares at him wide-eyed.

“Well, that should be… interesting.” She looks down on her growing stomach.

Will shrugs apologetically. “What, did you think I was gonna build a helicopter?”

Jemma purses her lips, tilting her head ever so slightly to one side. “Fitz would’ve,” she teases him.

Will laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. He gestures at her with the grappling hook. “You know, when we get home, I’m gonna challenge him to prove that.”

“Oh, he’ll prove it!” Jemma replies confidently, before getting more serious again. “You think it’s gonna work?”

Will nods. “It’ll work. You still wanna do this? Not wait until the next one?”

Jemma shakes her head. “The sooner we get home, the better.”

“Well, then.” He packs together the gear and shoulders the large backpack before gesturing towards the horizon. “After you, Doctor Simmons.”

* * *

They’d hiked for more than forty hours, her pregnancy slowing them down considerably. Of course they’d taken that into consideration before they’d left, but now Jemma’s worried they’ve cut it too close as they walk between the two rock formations that Will assured her would be the last landmark to pass before reaching the coordinates of the first portal.

They both stop in shock when they see the canyon in front of them.

“This can’t be it,” Jemma mutters, out of breath. “We made a mistake. We went the wrong way.”

“This is the spot, but—”

“You said it was thirty meters wide!” Panic and frustration cause Jemma’s voice to get louder without her wanting to. “There’s no way we can cross that.”

“It was. I swear!”

“That’s more like a _hundred_ meters,” Jemma remarks gesturing at the canyon. “Unless there was some significant earthquake—”

“It doesn’t want us to leave.” There’s resignation and defeat in Will’s voice and for a moment Jemma’s ready to believe his unscientific explanation of a supernatural being keeping them prisoner.

But then she hears the strange sound from across the canyon and sees the portal open.

“There it is! It’s opening!”

They’re so close and yet so far. Jemma’s hand reaches for her stomach.

 _I wanna go home. We need to go home_ , she thinks, tears in her eyes.

“There has to be a way to make that! We didn’t come this far to fail!” she exclaims, looking at Will, who’s started unbuckling his backpack.

“Maybe we don’t have to get there. Let’s go with Plan B!” He pulls out the oxygen tank he’d been carrying. “Hand me the bottle.”

Frantically, Jemma reaches into her makeshift shoulder bag and pulls out the message in a bottle.

Will takes it and attaches it to the grappling hook. “We can fire it right into the portal. If it’s not dragging any rope, it might just make it.”

“Hurry. We’ve only got one shot.”

“I’m well aware. Ready?” Will slightly lifts the telescope in his hands to take aim. “Now!” he yells, and Jemma turns up the pressure in the bottle as fast as she can.

She’s not sure which sound is louder, the beating of her own heart, the hissing of the grappling hook soaring through the air, or the swirling sound of the portal.

“Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on,” she pleads with the flying object and the portal at the same time.

When the bottle sinks into the swirling pool right before it disappears, Jemma feels like all the air in her lungs has been sucked into the portal as well.

She stares at the other side of the canyon, her mouth gaping ajar, neither drawing in air nor exhaling. Then her chin begins to quiver and tears run down her cheeks as her lips pull into a disbelieving smile.

“It worked,” she says barely above a whisper.

Slowly, she turns to look at Will, whose expression is just as frozen as hers.

“It worked,” she repeats a bit louder.

“It worked.” Will’s voice is like a quiet echo of her own.

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, and then, little by little, silence is replaced with laughter.

Jemma throws her arms around Will’s neck. “It worked, Will. It worked! You did it!”

He lifts her slightly off the ground. “It worked!”

Once Will puts her feet back on the sand, Jemma takes a step back, smiling at her stomach and stroking it gently. “It worked, little monkey. Fitz is going to get our message. Your dad is going to get our message.”

Jemma exhales a shaky breath when an unexpected thought enters her mind and panic overcomes her.

“What’s wrong?” Will asks, full of concern.

Jemma can barely bring herself to look at him. “I… well… S.H.I.E.L.D. is keeping the monolith in a crate. I was only taken because some idiot unhinged the door. They don’t even know it’s a portal, unless Fitz figured it out, which I suppose is a possibility, but… well… I’m sure after I disappeared, they… they increased security. And… well… what if the bottle… what if the bottle had nowhere to go on the other end. I mean, it crashed against the glass but the monolith swallowed it right back? What if… what if Fitz never gets the message and—”

Will grabs her shoulders, squeezing them gently. “Hey. Calm down! We have the second portal, right?”

Jemma shakes her head in panic. “Then we share the same fate as the bottle. We end up in a vacuum glass crate and are being sucked straight back. I… I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

Her gaze falls to the ground, but she looks back up when Will shakes her ever so slightly.

“Alright, genius, correct me if I’m wrong, but _if_ that bottle or its shattered remains and your message had been sucked back, wouldn’t we have seen it happen?” He lets go of one of her shoulders and gestures towards the other side of the canyon. “I don’t know about _you_ , but I’ve _never_ stared at something harder than at that bottle landing in the swirly portal pool.”

Jemma remains silent for a moment, her eyes wandering to where the bottle had disappeared. “I… I suppose that’s true.”

“I have my bright moments,” Will replies, one corner of his mouth pulled up into a one-sided grin. “And, quite frankly, I’d rather risk jumping through that second portal forty-six days from now and smacking my head against a glass wall than _not_ take that chance.”

A shy smile flashes across her lips and she nods in agreement.

Will tilts his head, gesturing in the direction from where they had arrived. “Come on, let’s get back to the cave and get ready to go home. We’ve made it this far. I’m starting to like our odds.” He nudges his nose at her growing bump. “You two are my lucky charms.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re the first portal opening in 16 days: I know, Jemma says 18 days in canon, but by my math that would mean the computer spit out a result before it even turned on [based on the hours appearing on the screen], so either I can’t do math, or they made a calculation error in canon. That’s why I went with sixteen instead.
> 
> Re getting two dates and locations: Yes, that is a deliberate change I made to canon. It works better for what I have planned. 
> 
> Re Jemma's redesigned pregnancy clothes: @racheltheclumsy successfully bribed me into posting Chapter 5 on the same day as Chapter 4 by offering to draw me fanart. [Well, she came up with Jemma's redesign of Brubaker's clothes](https://racheltheclumsy.tumblr.com/post/161475205660/art-of-jemma-simmons-i-did-for-a-fic-written-by) and I love it so much, I had to put the description into the fic to honor her wonderful talent! 
> 
> Re the idea that Fitz and Jemma were both stargazers as kids: [@consoldacup wrote this beautiful drabble (entitled "Rudimentary Science") as part of "Glimses Leading to the Inevitable"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6950593/chapters/24606456) and I've just accepted this as my head-canon now, 'cause I love the idea.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos. I'm already working on Chapter 7, so stay tuned. Should hopefully only be a few days until the next update!


	7. Chapter 7

_We have got to accept it. To say goodbye. We need to say goodbye. Jemma would want us to do that._

Coulson’s voice is still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind as he stands in front of the monolith screaming at the top of his lungs, screaming at the black rock to do something, to take him, to make it end.

He can’t accept it. He can’t.

It’s not over.

He won’t give up. He can’t give up.

He slams his hands into the solid rock, his palms, his fists, feeling the pain shooting from his knuckles up his arm, welcoming it, asking for more. Because at least it’s something, at least it’s a feeling.

“Fitz!”

“Fitz, get out of there!”

“Are you crazy?”

His brain barely registers his friends’ concerned voices. He continues to scream, continues to punch, continues to plead with the monolith to give him an answer.

He squirms when he feels Mack’s hands grabbing him under the arms, pulling him away. He tries to free himself from his friend’s grasp, tries to get back to the monolith. He’s not done with it yet.

But Mack is too strong, dragging him away to the far wall of the room while Hunter, Bobbi, and Daisy try to push the door to the crate shut.

“Close it! Close it!”

Fitz stares in a daze from where Mack had dropped him to the floor. He turns his head when he hears a click from the door, and sees Coulson finishing attaching his artificial arm as he storms into the room in anger.

“Damnit, Fitz!”

But Coulson stops when the familiar warbling of the monolith liquefying sounds from inside the crate.

Intuitively, Fitz turns his head back to look at the crate and gasps when he sees the force of the monolith open the door, throwing Daisy, Bobby, and Hunter across the room.

“Get away!” Mack’s booming voice echoes through the room.

Fitz watches in shock as his three friends scramble to their feet, rushing away from the black puddle spilling out of the crate, while Mack pulls Fitz to his feet. They all manage to push themselves flat against the wall to get as far away from the liquid pool as possible.

As soon as the monolith begins to retreat again, Coulson turns to face Fitz, the rest of his team following suit. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Fitz drops his head in defeat, shame, despair, closing his eyes so he won’t have to look his friends and colleagues in the eyes.

“I already lost Simmons to that thing,” Coulson continues. “I can’t afford to lo—”

The sound of metal hitting the floor and shattering glass makes him stop mid-word.

Fitz’s eyes shoot open and, slowly, he raises his head, trying to look past the rest of the group, who’d turned their heads in surprise.

The floor is covered with glass shards.

“What the—?” Hunter mumbles quietly.

Fitz isn’t sure if he’s the first to see it, or just the first to move, but he quickly squeezes past Mack and Coulson and rushes to where he sees the grappling hook and some rope lying on the ground. He slides the last few meters on his knees, ignoring the broken pieces of glass cutting his trousers and the skin beneath.

He notices the paper scroll, half-covered with rope and carefully picks it up, brushing off some of the small splinters, turning it back and forth, his heart hammering in his chest.

He notices that the others have stepped closer, are gathered around him, waiting for answers, but somehow he feels like he’s alone in the world with nothing but a piece of paper that could be the answer to everything or the final blow to his heart.

He unrolls the top of the scroll with trembling hands.

_Fitz._

It’s the first word he sees. His own name. His own name in a handwriting he’d recognize amongst a million writing samples.

_Fitz._

The black ink becomes blurry in front of his eyes. He gasps, draws in a shaky breath, but doesn’t exhale, too afraid that any movement could make the paper in his hands disappear, could wake him up, could blow out the glimmer of hope that his own name had just ignited.

_Fitz._

He reads it one more time.

_Fitz_.

Just the first word.

He doesn’t get further before his body is shaken with sobs, before he falls forward, resting his trembling body on his forearms, closing his eyes, clutching the paper scroll against his chest.

He cries. He cries tears he’s held back for months. He gasps for air, feels every muscle in his body vibrate with tension. When he notices a gentle hand on his back, he cries even harder.

“Fitz?”

There’s a ringing in his ears. He can’t even tell if it was Daisy or Bobbi who’d spoken, whose hand it is that’s comfortingly sliding up and down his back.

“Fitz?”

He pushes himself up to kneeling, his arms so weak they can barely support his weight. His chin quivers, and he swallows as his eyes wander slowly from person to person, from one confused, hopeful, anticipatory expression to the next.

“Fitz?” Daisy’s hand rests on his shoulder, and her dark eyes plead with him to talk.

“It’s Jemma.” His breathing is ragged and short, but somehow Fitz feels his sobs mix with laughter, feels his lips pull into a smile. “She’s alive.”

Daisy’s eyes double in size, shimmering behind a curtain of tears. “Oh god.” Her voice is nothing more than a quiet exhale.

As Fitz leans forward to fall into Daisy’s embrace, he hears Hunter yell out an excited “Yes!”

Fitz can’t say how long they stay cowered down on the floor surrounded by broken glass, him in Daisy’s arms, Bobbi’s hand resting on his back, Mack, Coulson, and Hunter crouching next to them. A strange silence hangs in the room, shock, hope, confusion, all rolled into one, everyone busy trying to let reality sink in.

Jemma’s alive.

Jemma had sent a message.

The guys leave eventually, one by one, Mack pushing the door to the crate shut and trying to secure it as best as possible with the half-destroyed lock Fitz’s little shooting spree had left behind.

In the end it’s only Fitz, Daisy, and Bobbi left.

Almost hesitantly, Fitz lets go of Daisy, wiping away the last traces of tears with the back of his hand. He shifts to sit on his bum instead of his aching knees, his eyes wandering back to the scroll in his left hand.

He turns his head to face Bobbi when he feels her hand gently rubbing his upper arm. “Do you want us to leave so you can read it by yourself?”

Fitz looks back and forth between Bobbi and Daisy, before staring back at the rolled-up paper. He can’t bring himself to speak, but instead shakes his head, glancing back at his friends, who both smile at him reassuringly.

Bobbi nods and scoots closer to him, bringing one arm around his upper back, while Daisy slides one arm around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder. It’s like they’re cradling him in a protective cocoon, and Fitz does his best to absorb some of the strength and willpower the two women seemingly want to give him.

He grabs the scroll with both hands, drawing in a slow breath to steady his hands. He blows out air through his rounded lips, and unrolls the message with closed eyes. He takes another deep breath before he dares open his eyes again, pleading with his body to not instantly burst into tears.

His heart beats frantically in his chest as he carefully smoothes the paper to be able to read it more clearly.

> _Fitz,_
> 
> _I don’t even know where to begin. I’m alive, in case that wasn’t clear. And I’m on another planet in a different solar system. (There’s something I never thought I’d have to write in a letter). The monolith—although you may already be aware of this by now for all I know—is an alternating matter-transportation device, a portal. I believe it acts like a valve. The monolith doesn’t liquefy randomly like we thought. It’s just that what’s causing it to dissolve isn’t on Earth. The two moons of the planet—which really are quite spectacular—are what affects the monolith; their degree of alignment to be precise. I believe it is similar to the way our moon affects the tides._
> 
> _I will outline all the scientific and historical data I’ve been able to gather on the second page, so here is just a very brief summary. The air is obviously oxygenated and breathable or I wouldn’t be able to tell you any of this (part of me would love to study the exact air composition on this planet, but the bigger part of me just wants to go home). Gravity is slightly stronger than on Earth, which took some getting used to. I’ve determined that I’m on one of the planet’s poles, which, unfortunately, means that there is no sun. I’m surrounded by endless night. You can’t imagine how the constant darkness gnaws on your sanity, Fitz. The flickering flames of the campfire burning next to me as I write this letter sometimes feel like the greatest gift. The entire planet—or at least the part I’ve seen—is barren, an endless desert, hardly any flora to speak of, barely enough to live on (if I never have to eat another bowl of plant porridge in my life again, it will still be too soon). And no fauna as far as I’ve been able to determine. There’s water at least, and shelter, and—this may come as a surprise (it certainly was one for me)—I’m not alone._
> 
> _My fellow planet-dweller is William Daniels. We ‘met’ about one month after I arrived here. Let’s just say we got off to a bit of a rough start, but our relationship has certainly improved since then. He reminds me a lot of Liam. Just as obnoxious, stubborn, protective, and grumpy, but also very caring and funny at times. I think you’ll like him. Will was a test pilot for the Air Force, who was then recruited by a special subdivision of NASA. NASA at the time—don’t ask me why or how—had the monolith and knew that it was a portal to an inhabitable planet. Will and his team of three other astronauts, all scientists, were sent to this planet in 2001 (theoretically for a one-year mission). He’s been here for fourteen years! Most of them all by himself. Can you believe it? But what’s even more surprising is that we weren’t the first ones to come here. I discovered a mass grave and the artifacts I found there suggest that people from Earth have been sent to this planet for centuries. It almost appears to be some kind of sacrifice (which I try not to think too hard about right now). Will believes that ‘It’—a strange being living here as well—has something to do with it. He thinks this ‘It’ is basically the Devil himself. Now, I don’t know what ‘It’ is or isn’t, but I suspect an alien being or maybe a very powerful Inhuman to be at play rather than some sort of magical creature. (Will’s lack of belief in scientific arguments is another thing he has in common with Liam.)_
> 
> _Anyways. I feel like I’m digressing. I found a sextant among the artifacts and it allowed me to track the stars’ and the moons’ movements. I then managed to use the remaining battery power of my phone (which thanks to you has obviously lasted longer than any standard tech device ever would), to power up Will’s old NASA computers and we were able to calculate the time and location of two portals._
> 
> _Now, if you’re reading this, then Plan A—to go through the first portal—failed. The location is at a canyon and there is the possibility that it will be difficult to cross. That’s why I created this message for you as a backup plan, to let you know we will be coming with the next portal in forty-six days (October 7, 2015, at 0255 UTC). Part of me wishes I could give you everything you need to know to open the portal from Earth and come and get us, but I’m not sure the data I’ve been able to collect would even be enough to help you. More importantly, I’d rather not risk getting anyone else stranded on this bloody desert rock. So, please, Fitz, don’t come! We’ve made it this far. What’s another forty-six days? Please, stay safe! I’m not sure I could live with myself, knowing you’d risk your life for mine again. Please, just get everything ready on your end. We will presumably be in need of medical care. Malnutrition. The lack of sunlight. You can imagine. Infusions, and such. I know I won’t have to go into detail. You’ll figure it out._
> 
> _Fitz, I’m so sorry. There’s so much we have to talk about, so much I want to say, so much more I wish I could tell you right now. But it’s not easy to fit almost five months worth of stories into a letter and to figure out what to say and what to leave out, and some things are maybe better said in person._
> 
> _I’ve missed you every day, Fitz. Your voice, your smile, your wonderful kind heart, your brilliant mind, your gentle hands. All of you! I’ve talked to you as if you were here and somehow you’ve always given me an answer. Thinking of you, looking at photographs and videos of you, of our friends, our families, it has allowed me to keep going, hour by hour, day by day._
> 
> _There have been moments when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer, but somewhere in the back of my mind, your voice told me to hold on. Your voice, the thought of you is like the sunlight I so desperately want to see again. I’ll promise I’ll make it through these next forty-six days, Fitz, as long as you promise me you’ll be waiting for me at the other end._
> 
> _Love, Jemma_

He re-reads her valediction several times.

_Love, Jemma._

_Love_.

_Jemma_.

A single tear drips onto the paper, and Fitz quickly wipes it away with his thumb, somehow afraid the drop of water could destroy her entire letter.

He sniffles, his eyes wandering aimlessly back and forth over the handwritten words.

_Alive. Planet. Moons. Astronaut._

_Devil. Desert. Portal. NASA._

_Darkness._

_Forty-six days._

_Don’t come._

_Alive. Portal. Water._

_No Sun._

_Will. Liam._

_Love._

_Forty-six days._

_Portal._

_Love._

_Promise me._

He looks up when Bobbi’s hand begins stroking up and down his back. She smiles shyly, her eyes tear-rimmed but happy. “What do you say, Fitz? Let’s get things ready for her?”

Fitz turns his head to look at Daisy, who nods, smiling encouragingly.

His eyes return to the letter in his hands, his fingers gliding over the black ink as if it would allow him to touch Jemma somewhere across the galaxy.

He sighs in relief, bopping his head ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” he mumbles barely above a whisper. “Forty-six days. Let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you wondered in your comments whether we'd see Fitz's POV and/or him finding the message, and to all of those who did, I'd like to say: I had this chapter planned right from the beginning and it was very exciting to see that it was something people really wanted to read. [@racheltheclumsy: Great minds and all that... OR "Get out of my head" :) ]
> 
> This fic is obviously very focussed on Jemma and Jemma's POV, but, yes, we deserve some of Fitz's POV as well (and this chapter won't be the only one) :)
> 
> It's always been my headcanon that the portal that Jemma and Will get to and can't get their message in a bottle through is the same that opens when Fitz loses it in front of the monolith. I don't actually know if that's how it was intended considering that the tag of that episode showed Jemma running away from It, i.e. much earlier, but then it would have taken Fitz more than two months to figure things out and rescue her and that seems too long and ... and I'm digressing. I just love the idea that the moment at which Jemma basically lost all hope was the moment that Fitz found the proof he needed to bring her back.
> 
> For those who are wondering about it: Yes, I know Jemma didn't mention the pregnancy in her letter. Stay tuned ;)


	8. Chapter 8

Jemma notices how Will nervously wanders around the cave, throwing a few more seemingly random items into his backpack.

She smiles, walking up to him and placing her hand on his shoulder. “Relax. We’re not going to miss it!”

Will tilts his head, a shy smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I know. It’s just. Fourteen years. Hard to imagine that I might actually—”

“You _will_. Not ‘might’. You _will_ get home, Will!”

Jemma throws her little makeshift bag over her shoulder and steps up to the ladder. “Ready to leave this cave behind?”

Will takes one more look around. “Definitely.”

She starts heading up the ladder, her stomach somewhat slowing her down. “Can you believe you spent fourteen years on this planet and you’ll miss the sunrise by just a few minutes?”

She turns slightly, seeing Will still standing next to the ladder, looking up at her. “I’ll trade one sunrise on this hell planet for a whole truckload of sunrises back home on Earth in a heartbeat! Can’t believe you even bothered to calculate that.”

Jemma takes another step up the ladder. “I’m a scientist. I was already tracking the stars and the moons. My scientific curiosity practically _demanded_ to try and understand this planet and this solar system better.”

“Nutjob!” Will chuckles and Jemma hears him grab ahold of the ladder bars, beginning his own ascent to the desert floor.

At the top of the ladder, Jemma pushes the heavy metal cover open, groaning loudly. She reaches up with both hands, pushing herself through the hole.

“Another thing I _can’t_ believe is that you _still_ fit through this opening,” Will calls up from below her.

Jemma stops briefly, glancing back down the ladder. “Would you like my boot to kick you in the face right now, or would you prefer I wait until you’ve come up here?”

Will laughs out loud and Jemma can’t help follow suit, as she crawls all the way to the top, resting on her knees in the sand to catch her breath from the short climb up the ladder.

The past forty-six days certainly had been much more carefree than the previous time she’d spent on this planet, and the familiar bickering bond of sibling rivalry that had developed between her and Will had only grown stronger.

Will pushes his backpack through the opening before climbing out of the cave himself. “So. Three hours, right?”

“Exactly.” Jemma pushes herself up to standing, pressing her hands against her lower back, and grimaces slightly as she tries to massage away some of her discomfort. “The hike _should_ be less than two hours, but since we can’t measure time _exactly_ and my pregnancy _will_ unfortunately slow us down, I think it’s best if we leave right away.”

Will stands up, shouldering his bag and adjusting it until he’s satisfied with the fit. “Let’s go then.”

* * *

“Ugh. Stupid desert with its stupid sand and its stupid dunes,” Jemma moans as her boots sink deep into the sandy hills with each step she takes. She loses balance (again), her center of gravity having shifted with her growing belly. She falls to her knees, resting her hands in the sand, breathing heavily. “Ugh. Stupid pregnancy.”

Will takes a few steps back from where he’d already climbed up the dune, stretching his hand out to pull her back up to standing. He hands her a bottle of water and Jemma takes a long, thirsty sip before returning the canteen.

Will tucks it back into his pocket, gesturing with his head to the top of the dune. “Come on. You can do it.”

Jemma sighs and continues her ascent, pressing her hands on her thighs for support. “Stupid dunes,” she mutters under her breath.

Will smiles encouragingly, placing his hand on her back when she passes him, trying to push her gently up the hill. “You make it up there, I’ll just roll you down the other side.”

Jemma turns her head, trying to glare at him but unable to stop a smile from creeping to her face instead. She takes a few more steps up the hill and straightens up when she finally reaches the top. “Do you talk to _all_ pregnant women who help you get off this planet like this?”

Will grins at her mischievously. “Nah. You’re extra special.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Thanks.”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes wandering down the dune towards the rock formations in the distance where she knows the portal will open. It looks so close and yet Jemma knows it’s still a good hour away.

Suddenly, her heart seems to be beating almost frantically and she’s not convinced it’s because she just exerted herself climbing up the sandy hill. “You think we’re on schedule?”

She feels Will’s arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “If you taught me your moons-and-stars-clock correctly then we’re still slightly ahead of schedule. Like you said: Relax. We’re not gonna miss it.”

She turns to look at him, smiling gratefully as he winks at her. Intuitively, Jemma’s hands reach for her stomach, stroking it gently, when the baby moves, pushing its bum and extremities against the outer walls of the amniotic sac. “I think the little monkey wants to go home, too.”

* * *

With every step she takes on the now flat terrain, Jemma sees the rock formation come closer and with every step her heart seems to become lighter, the smile on her lips wider.

“You know for thirty weeks pregnant, you’re setting quite a pace,” Will huffs next to her, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Jemma grins triumphantly. “Oh good, you finally ran out of pregnancy-related insults.”

“Once we’re at the location and I have a moment to catch my br—”

He stops when the wind suddenly picks up and Jemma’s head shoots around in panic, seeing the familiar dust cloud rolling down the dunes in the distance.

“Oh, no,” she exhales in disbelief. “Not now.”

She’s pulled out her daze when Will grabs her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. “Jemma, go! Hide by the rock formations until the portal opens! You can make it.”

She reaches up, grabbing Will’s forearms. “I’m not going without you.”

“Yes! Maybe I can hold if off long enough until the—”

He stops when they both hear the sound of the portal opening, both their heads intuitively turning away from the approaching sandstorm and to the rock formation instead.

The sand is blowing up around them, making it hard to see, but there’s no doubt in Jemma’s mind that the swirling pool of blue has opened only about thirty meters away.

“Guess it’s a good thing we tried to be early,” Will mutters, his voice barely loud enough to cover the raging storm around them.

“It won’t be open long,” Jemma screams in Will’s ear and he nods, grabbing her by the elbow.

Jemma doesn’t need more encouragement than that. She runs as fast as her pregnant stomach will let her, turning her head to make sure Will is right behind her. As soon as she’s close enough to the portal, she jumps through, feeling the world around her spin, growing dark and bright at the same time.

She hears herself scream when her body exits the portal, feels herself fly through the air. She squints as bright, artificial light blinds her. Instinctively, she reaches forward, as if her arms were strong enough to allow for a safe landing. The floor shines in an unfamiliar dark black as it inches closer. Somehow it all seems to be happening in slow motion. She lands on one shoulder, rolling forward, bracing herself with her free hand. Her fingers dig absentmindedly into the floor, surprised by how soft the ground seems to be. Her head spins and her breathing is short and shallow. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s landed on the black training mats S.H.I.E.L.D. uses. Jemma tries to push herself up, but her arms wobble beneath her. She turns her head slightly and is relieved to see Will just a few feet to the side, trying to push himself up on all fours.

“ _Jemma!_ ”

Her name sounds like a faint echo, her mind still somehow torn between one galaxy and the other, but the single word is enough to let her recognize the voice, and a weak smile flashes across her lips, as her tired eyes see his blurry figure run towards her.

“Fitz,” she sighs in relief.

* * *

* * *

Fitz leans on the table in the observation room, his fingers so tense he imagines they will dig into the wooden surface at any moment now. His eyes are fixed on the computer screen displaying the monolith in the room next door.

They’d set up a slightly elevated ring made from the same material as the crate around the black rock to contain the portal rather than letting it spill out all over the floor.

Nervously, Fitz glances at his watch: 0254 UTC. He exhales a shaky breath, his heart thumping anxiously in his chest.

When the monolith dissolves, he inhales sharply, then holds his breath in anticipation.

“Come on, Jemma. Come on,” he whispers to himself, flinching briefly when he feels Daisy’s reassuring hand on his shoulder.

As soon as he sees the first body exit the portal, Fitz pushes himself away from the table and runs out the door, ignoring Bobbi’s call of “Damnit, Fitz, we said we’d wait!”

He pushes the door to the monolith room open, calling out Jemma’s name as soon as his eyes catch sight of her.

He rushes over to where she’s lying slightly hunched over on her side. He kneels down besides her, while somewhere in the back of his head he registers the others running into the room and towards the other hunched-over figure kneeling on the black exercise mats.

“Fitz.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper, but there’s a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

She reaches out one hand, trying to grab his shoulder, and Fitz grabs hold of hers, helping her up to sitting. He barely manages to catch a glimpse of her eyes before her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

Fitz can’t help but smile as he feels her tears wetting his shirt while his run down his cheeks.

“Jemma,” he says over and over, while he hears his own name whispered into his ear.

He tries to cup her face, tries to push her away far enough so he can make sure she’s uninjured, but before he gets a chance to begin his examination, her hands press against his cheeks and her lips press against his. At first, he’s too surprised to do anything but let her shower him with kisses.

“Fitz. Oh Fitz. You’re here. I’m home. I’m home.”

He listens to her whispers between each desperate peck, until his own emotions, his own relief over her return overwhelm him, and he returns her kisses, urgently, reassuringly.

“Yes. You’re home, Jemma. You’re home. Everything will be okay.”

Eventually, they need to come up for air, their frantic hands caressing each other’s cheeks, combing through each other’s hair. Fitz holds Jemma’s face gently in his hands, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma whispers again, her breathing fast and shallow. She leans forward, pressing her lips once again softly against his and he can’t help but smile. She pulls back, smiling back at him weakly.

“Fitz.” It’s as if Jemma’s voice has become even more quiet, and something in her expression changes, her eyes blinking more rapidly, a look of confusion spreading across her face, pushing away the happiness he’d noticed only moments ago.

“Jemma?” Fitz asks, concern and confusion rushing through his body.

“Fitz.” He can barely hear her this time.

He gasps when he sees Jemma’s eyes roll back and feels her body grow limp. Frantically, he slides his hands underneath her arms to stop her from collapsing. He lowers her onto the mattress, supporting her head with one hand.

Fitz turns slightly, noticing Lincoln and Coulson supporting an unsteady Will Daniels, guiding him towards the exit. Mack, Hunter, Bobbi, and Daisy are right next to them; Hunter holding on to a ragged, old backpack.

“Lincoln! She’s passing out!” Fitz calls over his shoulder.

Lincoln immediately turns his head in Fitz’s direction, his eyes wide. He gestures at Hunter, who hands Bobbi the backpack and grabs hold of Will instead. Will is staring full of concern and yet noticeably disoriented in Jemma’s direction.

Fitz watches in a daze as Daisy, Mack, and Lincoln rush over; Lincoln yelling some medical instructions for Will over his shoulder at Bobbi.

As soon as Lincoln drops to his knees besides Jemma’s head, Fitz’s focus immediately shifts back to her as well. Lincoln works quickly, pulling open Jemma’s eyes, feeling her pulse, making sure she’s still breathing. “Probably just exhaustion,” he mutters quietly. “We should get her to the isolation room asap.”

“Umm. Guys?”

Both Fitz and Lincoln look up in Mack and Daisy’s direction in surprise, then turn their heads to see what they’re staring at.

Fitz gasps in shock, his eyes doubling in size when he sees the grey shirt Jemma’s wearing bulging out significantly in her midsection.

He begins to hyperventilate when Lincoln frantically pulls back the shirt, revealing Jemma’s swollen stomach.

Lincoln’s hand glide over the skin, gently pushing it in various spots. “There’s movement,” he mutters out of breath, straightening up slightly in his kneeling position.

“Fuck.” Daisy’s voice is barely above a whisper.

Fitz looks up, his eyes wandering from a seemingly shell-shocked Mack, to Daisy, to Lincoln, then to Jemma.

His ears are ringing and the whole world around him seems to spin. He leans forward, trying to hug Jemma where she’s lying unconscious on the floor, burying his face in the nook of her shoulder as he feels his body shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

“Jemma,” he whimpers. “Jemma.”

He stays there, cradling her in his arms, barely registering that Mack takes off, returning moments later with Agent Davis and a stretcher.

Reluctantly, he lets go of Jemma, when Lincoln pushes on his shoulder, trying to get his attention. He allows Daisy to pull him up to standing, even though his legs are almost too weak to hold him up. He watches in a trance as Lincoln, Agent Davis, and Mack lift Jemma onto the stretcher and Davis and Mack each grab one end to hoist her up.

Fitz turns his head slowly, when he feels Daisy gently squeezing his shoulder. He nods ever so slightly and somehow manages to force his feet to move and follow the others to the isolation rooms they had prepared for Jemma and Will.

_Pregnant. Jemma’s pregnant,_ his mind repeats over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I know, it's hard to get a read on what Fitz is thinking/feeling about the pregnancy. I'm mean like that ;)
> 
> Also, I kinda went over my original outline for this fic and realized that since then I had come up with some additional scene ideas, so the preliminary chapter count will go up from 12 to at least 14 (possibly more). I have a feeling, you won't complain too much about that ;)


	9. Chapter 9

Lincoln hooks his arms under Jemma’s shoulders and knees, lifting her off the stretcher before turning around to lay her down on the med bed they’d set up in one of the isolation rooms. He elevates the top of the bed and pushes a pillow under her legs, before quickly checking her eyes again.

“Shouldn’t you be rolling her onto her side?” Mack remarks, but Lincoln seems to ignore his question, turning his attention to the medical supplies set up next to the bed instead.

Fitz looks up at Mack in confusion. “Why would he do that?”

“So the baby and the uterus don’t put too much pressure on whatever blood vessel runs down there.”

“Why do _you_ know that?” Daisy asks.

“Story for another time, Tremors,” Mack replies absentmindedly, his eyes focusing back on where Lincoln is preparing everything he needs to take Jemma’s blood.

Fitz steps up behind Lincoln, feeling increasingly anxious and restless. “How can I help?”

Lincoln turns around, an ampulla for taking blood in hand. He gestures towards the end of the bed. “By stepping away and giving me room.”

“Let me help, Lincoln, please.” Fitz stares at him wide-eyed.

Lincoln sighs, rolling his eyes in frustration. “Look, Fitz, I’m not trying to be a dick here. I _know_ you’re worried. I _know_ you want to help, but I’m a medical doctor and _I’m_ barely qualified enough to handle this. I’ve had _one_ OB rotation, Fitz. _One_. I know enough to determine a pregnancy, hand out some pamphlets, run some tests, ultrasounds, know the basics of how to deliver a baby if there are no major complications. _That_ kinda stuff! But according to your brief, Jemma was on an alien planet for more than five months, without sunlight and barely enough food to live on.” He stretches out his arm, gesturing at Jemma’s unconscious body. “Until she wakes up, we can’t even be sure if this baby is fully human.”

“No. No, that’s—” Fitz tries to interject, but Lincoln cuts him short.

“This is a high-risk pregnancy, Fitz. Again. I’m not trying to be a dick, but the best way to help me right now is to get out of my way and let me do what I need to do, okay?”

Fitz’s gaze falls to the ground and he nods silently, taking a stumbling step backwards and allowing Mack’s hand on his shoulder to guide him away from the bed until he stands next to Mack and Daisy off to the side. He tucks his hands in his pockets, unsure what else to do with them, lifting his head just enough to be able to observe what Lincoln is doing.

“He’s right, Turbo,” Mack remarks, squeezing Fitz’s shoulder gently.

Daisy’s hand draws reassuring circles on Fitz’s back. “Yeah. Lincoln knows what he’s doing.”

Fitz nods. “Yeah, I know,” he whispers quietly.

He notices Jemma flinch when Lincoln places the needle to draw blood. Lincoln leans slightly forward, looking directly at Jemma.

“I’m taking some blood samples, okay? Just relax,” Lincoln says quietly and calmly.

Fitz has to force himself to stand still when he realizes that Jemma is awake, her head nodding ever so slightly in agreement, her eyes fixed on Lincoln’s.

“Then I’m gonna put you on an I.V. drip and give you some midazolam to help you relax and fall asleep,” Lincoln continues in the same reassuring, calm tone.

Jemma seems to try and sit up at his words, her lips moving without saying anything, but Lincoln gently places the back of one hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to lie back on the pillow.

“It’s okay. Just one low dose. It won’t harm the baby. Just to help you fall asleep, not to put you completely under, okay? You need rest, Jemma. Trust me.”

She closes her eyes, nodding slightly. The “Okay” that escapes her lips is so quiet, Fitz barely manages to hear it at all.

Lincoln straightens up, placing the blood samples onto the tray next to the bed, before removing the rubber band he’d tied around Jemma’s arm. “I.V. drip is next,” he explains, grabbing the necessary supplies.

“Where’s Fitz?” Her voice is still barely above a whisper, but the sound of his name causes Fitz’s ears to perk up and his heartbeat to quicken.

The corners of Lincoln’s mouth twitch briefly before he turns, looking in Fitz’s direction. Jemma’s head rolls to the side, and her lips pull into a weak smile when she sees him. “Fitz.”

Fitz forces himself to break his eye contact with Jemma, glancing restlessly instead at Lincoln. Lincoln smiles in resignation, shaking his head ever so slightly before gesturing for Fitz to come closer. Fitz sighs in relief and takes a step forward, a gentle pat on the back from Mack as additional encouragement.

He takes Jemma’s free hand in both of his, tears framing his eyes, unable to stop from smiling. “Hey there.”

“Hey,” Jemma whispers quietly, beaming at him happily.

She looks away briefly, distracted when Lincoln places the I.V. drip in the back of her hand, but immediately returns her gaze to Fitz. “I’m pregnant.”

Fitz can’t help but chuckle, one hand reaching up to stroke her hair back, to caress her ashen cheeks. “Yeah. I kinda noticed.”

She lets out a quiet laugh that rings in Fitz’s ears like the most beautiful piece of music ever written. “Not very subtle that little bump, I suppose.”

“Not really.” Fitz blinks, trying to keep his tears from spilling over.

Jemma draws in a shaky breath. “You’re not mad?”

Fitz scoffs, smiling widely. “I’m a _lot_ of things right now, Jemma, but mad is _definitely_ not one of them.”

Jemma sniffs, and Fitz leans closer to wipe away a tear that’s slowly snaking down her cheek, while holding onto her free hand with the other.

“Oh good.” Jemma sighs, relieved, her voice groggy and breathy. “I don’t know what I’d do, if you’d—”

Fitz shakes his head, gently stroking the top of her head. “Don’t worry about that, okay?”

She smiles weakly, her eyes growing sleepier. “There’s so much… so much we… we need to—” She blinks, turning her head the other way and Fitz follows her gaze, noticing Lincoln putting away an injection needle.

Lincoln looks at them, having noticed that they’d stopped talking. “The midazolam works pretty quickly.”

Only half-awake, Jemma turns her head back, a hint of a smile still lingering on her lips. “Guess we’ll talk… talk later.”

Fitz leans forward, placing a chaste kiss to her forehead, before bringing his hand back to cover hers, squeezing it gently. He nods in agreement, his voice stuck somewhere at the back of his throat, as he watches her close her eyes and drift off to sleep.

Lincoln pulls off his latex gloves, throwing them in the trashcan next to the bed. “Sorry ‘bout that, Fitz, but she needs to rest.”

Fitz looks up, nodding in understanding. “I know.”

“Doctor Campbell.”

All heads in the room suddenly shoot in the direction of the door. It seems as if Fitz’s not the only one who’d managed to forget about Davis.

“Yes, Agent Davis?” Lincoln asks, a slight tremor of surprise in his voice.

“My wife’s an OB,” the tall, quiet agent remarks, holding his hands behind his back. “Specializing in high-risk pregnancy, actually. She works at St Mary’s.”

Lincoln turns, pointing at Daisy, who’s still rooted to the spot next to Mack, his voice urgent and authoritative. “Take Davis and find Coulson. Tell him we _need_ Davis’ wife here asap. Give her whatever fucking clearance and equipment she needs. Bring the ultrasound here from the med bay. Track down a CTG and a fetal Doppler. Davis, make sure your wife tells them _anything_ she might need. Make it happen, Daisy, okay?”

“Got it.” Daisy nods and heads towards the door, grabbing Davis by the arm in passing.

“I’m gonna make sure my guys lock up that damn monolith for good.” Mack walks over to where Fitz is standing, placing his hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “You gonna be okay here, Turbo?”

Fitz looks at his friend, bopping his head ever so slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Mack lifts his chin in Lincoln’s direction. “Nice work, Doc.”

Lincoln smiles, shaking his head slightly. “Believe me, I wish I could do more, but at this point, I’d rather wait for a specialist.”

After Mack leaves, a few minutes go by in silence, Fitz watching through the corners of his eyes as Lincoln prepares the blood samples for the lab, checks Jemma’s vitals, attaches a pulse oximeter, and seemingly follows other routine procedures.

“Lincoln.” It’s Bobbi’s voice that cuts through the stillness, causing Fitz to lift his head towards the entrance and Lincoln to turn around.

She stands in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Davis and Daisy took off to pick up Davis’ wife. Coulson asked me to let you know.”

Lincoln nods in relief. “Good. That’s good.”

Her hands drop to her sides and she takes a few steps into the room. “I took some blood samples, got the I.V. running, adjusted the gravity and oxygen levels in the room based on Daniels’ input. Basically everything you told me and everything I could think of myself. But I really think you should take a look at him yourself, if you don’t mind.”

Lincoln turns briefly, glancing in Jemma’s direction. “Yeah. Sure. I’ve pretty much done everything I can here for now.”

He grabs the blood samples and looks at Fitz. “I’ll be back in a little bit to check on her again.”

Fitz nods silently, his thumbs continuing to stroke back and forth on the back of Jemma’s hand.

“How’re you holding up, Fitz?”

He looks up, watching Bobbi step closer, her hands now tucked into her jeans pockets.

“I’m fine.” He scoffs, almost embarrassed by his half-hearted attempt to lie. He shakes his head in resignation, shrugging ever so slightly. “I… I don’t even know.”

A smile flashes across Bobbi’s face and Fitz wishes it didn’t look quite as pitying.

“Is Will okay?” he asks, keeping his voice low as not to wake Jemma.

Bobbi nods, her smile strangely pained. “Yeah. All things considered.”

Bobbi steps closer to Jemma’s bed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the mattress, following her own movement with her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Fitz.”

Fitz lifts his head, squinting in confusion. “Sorry? ‘Bout what?”

Bobbi meets his eyes, drawing in a slow breath, seemingly carefully contemplating what to say or if to reply at all. “It’s _impossible_ to miss that you love her, Fitz, and I’m sorry that… Well.” Her eyes wander to Jemma’s stomach.

Fitz raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You think it’s _his_?”

Bobbi looks back at him, tilting her head to one side. “Well… Fitz.” She shrugs. “Come on.”

Fitz is unable to hold back a laugh. “Bobbi, she compared him to her big brother.” He nudges his head in the direction of Jemma’s baby bump. “You think _that’s_ something she’d do with her _brother_?”

Bobbi wrinkles her forehead, lifting her shoulders almost to her ears. “Then what? You think it was that alien, that ‘It’ or whatever she mentioned? Fitz. I’m sorry, but that doesn’t sound—”

“It’s mine.”

His words hang in the air for a moment. It’s strange to hear them out loud. Somehow it gives meaning to those vague and confusing thoughts that had been running through his mind ever since Daisy made them aware of Jemma’s pregnancy.

Bobbi’s eyes seem to have doubled in size. “What?”

Fitz swallows, squeezing Jemma’s hand a bit tighter, his gaze wandering from Bobbi to Jemma. “I’m the father.”

Her mouth gapes slightly ajar. “You two are together?” She furrows her brows in disbelief. “How did I miss that? I’m an expert interrogator and you two wear your hearts on your sleeves.”

“We’re not,” Fitz interrupts her, shaking his head. “We’re not together.” He shrugs, looking at Jemma’s hand in his, trying to avoid Bobbi’s stare. “I mean… I mean, we slept together. Once. You were still in the ICU. It was… it was after I returned from the aircraft carrier.” He draws in a shaky breath, his mind wishing to avoid returning to the memory of what happened after that night. “I… I asked her out to dinner the next day, so we could talk, but then… well, the monolith—”

“—took her.”

Fitz sighs, lifting his eyes barely enough to look at Bobbi. “Yeah.”

Bobbi slumps her shoulders, her expression no longer one of pity but of concern. “Did you tell anyone about this, Fitz? Daisy? Or Mack? Or… anyone?”

He shakes his head in silence.

“Fitz, why not?”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” he tries to joke but Bobbi sees right through him.

She tilts her head to one side, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “Fitz?”

He sniffles, briefly letting go of Jemma’s hand to wipe across his nose with the back of his hand. “I… I couldn’t.” He shrugs, forcing himself to look at his friend. “We never got a chance to talk about it and it didn’t seem right to talk to anyone before I could—”

He clears his throat, finding it harder to speak, as if a fist were clenching down on his heart. He blinks, reaching up to catch the tears that escaped his eyes. “And it hurt, Bobbi. It hurt so much.”

He bites his lower lip, shaking his head. “I mean… I mean she said that I was more than a friend and it seemed like finally… it seemed like we could figure it out, like we could talk and… and come to a clear—”

He exhales sharply, words floating chaotically in his mind like leaves blown up by a wind gust. “We were best friends.” The thought brings a smile to his face. “Best friends and nothing ever came between that until… until Ward and… and what I told her at the bottom of the ocean and… and then she left to go undercover and I didn’t even know where… and she came back and things were so—”

He scoffs. “Everything was up in the air, and undefined, and… and honestly, I’d rather… I’d rather be nothing more than her best friend than to go back to that purgatory we were in where nothing is right and nothing is wrong either and—”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Ugh… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

He looks back up at Bobbi, wetting his lips before he speaks. “It hurt. That night was… it was _something_. For me it was _everything_ and… and I asked her out and we were gonna have dinner and talk and then… then she disappeared and I—”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t talk about it, Bobbi. I could barely function. You saw me! I felt… I felt betrayed by the universe or something. It doesn’t even make sense, but—”

A pained smile flashes across Bobbi’s face and Fitz notices her eyes shimmer sadly behind a curtain of tears. “It does, Fitz. It makes a lot of sense.”

He sighs, nodding ever so slightly.

“So… how do you feel now, with, well, that little surprise there?” Bobbi gestures at Jemma’s stomach with her head.

Fitz scoffs. “I’ve had like five minutes to process this, Bobbi. I don’t even know. I don’t know what to think or feel about it.”

He draws in a deep breath, his eyes wandering to Jemma’s face. He can see sand still clinging to her skin, dust in her tousled hair. Her eyes are closed, but he can see her eyeballs moving restlessly behind her closed eyelids. He can’t help but reach up, to briefly comb his fingers through her hair, a relieved smile automatically appearing on his lips. “I just know that she’s back. She’s back and that’s all I care about right now to be honest. That she’s back and safe and… and everything else we can figure out. ‘Cause at least now we can figure it out together.”

He looks back at Bobbi, whose lips tick up into the hint of a smile. She walks to the other side of the bed, wrapping one arm around his shoulder and pulling him into a sideways hug. “Sounds like a plan. But if you ever need to talk to someone, I’m here, Fitz. Just know that, okay?”

He sniffs, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand, nodding ever so slightly. “Thanks.”

Bobbi gently slaps his shoulder. “Let me grab you a chair, huh?”

Fitz chuckles briefly. “Thanks again.”

“You got it.”

* * *

Jemma feels something heavy on her arm when she wakes up. She looks down and sees Fitz hunched forward, resting his head on his hands, which are covering hers. A smile flashes across her face, and carefully—as not to pull out her I.V. or lose her pulse oximeter—she reaches over with her free hand to stroke the back of his head.

He stirs, shifting slightly before sitting up straight, his lips instantaneously pulling into a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jemma replies, happily.

“You woke up.” His voice is laced with relief.

“Yes.”

“You don’t look as sleepy anymore,” he remarks, gently squeezing her hand.

A weak chuckle escapes Jemma’s lips. “Yeah. I feel much more awake. How long did I sleep?”

Fitz twists his arm to look at his watch. “’Bout three hours it looks like.”

Jemma purses her lips. “Huh. Not bad, I suppose.”

Fitz nods in agreement, sighing deeply before continuing to speak. “Lincoln stopped by about an hour ago to replace your bag of fluids.” He reaches for the back of his neck, massaging it briefly and tilting it from left to right. “Must have dozed off after that.”

Jemma turns her head, looking up at her I.V. drip. “Ah, yes. That’s good. Hydration. Probably some supplements. Iron. Vitamins. All that.”

She clears her throat, feeling as if her rambling is mundane and unnecessary. Her free hand reaches for her stomach, carefully gliding up and down.

“Davis’ wife is an OB.”

“Oh.” Jemma looks up in surprise at Fitz’s words.

He nods as confirmation. “Yeah. She… she specializes in high-risk pregnancies. They’re bringing her here.” He ticks his head to one side. “Probably already is here, actually. Coulson was gonna bring her up to speed.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s good. Yes… Yes, I should… yes.” Jemma draws in a slow, deep breath, her mind torn between relief over knowing she has access to the necessary health care providers she needs and worry over everything they might discover.

“Jemma?”

Her name rips her out of her thoughts and her head shoots in Fitz’s direction. “Yes?”

Fitz drops his head, staring at his hand covering hers, his thumb drawing lazy circles over her knuckles.

“It’s mine, right?” His voice is incredibly shy and quiet, and something about the way he phrases his question makes Jemma smile.

Fitz clears his throat, raising his head, his blue, gentle eyes looking back at her full of hope. “I… I mean, not that I doubt it… it’s… it’s just that I think I need to hear you say it.”

She smiles, exhaling a happy sigh of relief. She presses her lips together to stop the emotions, noticing her eyes well up and emotions flooding her body, threatening to overwhelm her. She nods. “Yes, Fitz. It’s yours.”

The corners of his mouth pull up and his eyes seem to brighten all of a sudden. Jemma hears a quiet chuckle and feels her heart melt at the sight of him.

He nods, still grinning widely. “Yeah. Good. I mean… I figured, since we… well and then you wouldn’t have… you wouldn’t have had your—”

“—pills with me.”

“Yeah. That.” He furrows his brows, his expression suddenly growing more serious, shaking his head ever so slightly, his eyes once again avoiding her, staring at their stack of hands instead. “I’m sorry. This is—” He turns his head, looking at her apologetically. “If I had had a condom, this probably wouldn’t have—”

For a moment she can only stare at him in a mix of disbelief and awe, before gently squeezing the hand he’d tucked under hers. “Oh, Fitz. Don’t—”

She shakes her head. “Don’t what if. It—”

Jemma shrugs, a little laugh bubbling to the surface. “It happened and there’s nothing about that night I regret.”

“No?” He looks at her, hopeful and yet not fully able to hide his doubt.

“No,” Jemma replies, barely above a whisper, squeezing his hand once more as additional affirmation. “I realize that I had a lot more time to get used to the idea, Fitz, but—”

“Why didn’t you say anything in your letter?” His question is quiet, not an accusation, just an inquiry.

Jemma sighs, a weak smile playing on her lips. “I thought about it. God, I thought about it so much, Fitz. But, well, there were several reasons really.”

She clears her throat. “When I realized I was pregnant, I… I wasn’t sure what to think about it. I was in shock and confused and—”

She shrugs. “I’d never really thought about it before. Having a family was this vague idea that I didn’t concern myself with because… well, I’m a scientist and I enjoy our work here and, well, that night, _our_ night… it was the first time in so long that I’d been with someone, _wanted_ to be with someone, with _you_. But of course I’d never thought about these kinds of possible ramifications, because, well, I was on birth control and—”

Jemma pauses, trying to bring her rambling thoughts in order. “Yet, all of a sudden, there it was… it had happened.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I mean, it took me _two_ months to realize I was pregnant, because that possibility never even occurred to me. Every symptom I had perfectly coincided with something that could be related to dehydration, malnutrition, bad hygiene. And when realization finally hit me, my first reaction was ‘I can’t do this.’ I wasn’t even sure if I _wanted_ to do it.”

She notices that she’d been looking away from him as she’d recalled her memories, and slowly she turns her head back in his direction, noticing how his thumb had been continuously drawing calming circles on the back of her hand.

A smile flashes across her face. “But then, the more I thought about it, the more detail my mind added to those images I saw before my eyes, holding the baby, imagining where we’d live, watching you play outside with them when they’re older, disassembling some little tech device you built for practice.”

She can’t help but chuckle at her happy fantasies, before she lifts her shoulder thoughtfully. “The longer I thought about it, the more I realized that I _loved_ thinking about these things. I _wanted_ these things.”

She sighs, a flash of guilt rushing through her. “I realize that by _not_ mentioning the pregnancy in my letter, I’m giving you a lot _less_ time to prepare and come to terms with everything than _I_ had, but… but I was afraid, if I told you in the letter then it would be something so abstract, so unbelievable, so overwhelming that… I wanted you to be able to _see_ this.” She laughs quietly, looking at her stomach while her free hand gently caresses her bump. “And _feel_ this and see how it’s _real_ and _growing_ and—”

She shrugs, smiling apologetically. “And I wanted to see your face when I told you, because even though I was nervous of your reaction—still am to be frank—well, I also… I hoped that maybe—even though it must come as a complete shock—that you’d be happy somehow and well, losing consciousness kinda threw a wrench in the whole telling you and seeing your face while doing it idea but—”

“I was.”

Her lips twitch nervously, unsure if he’d meant what she hopes he’s implying. “What?”

One corner of his mouth ticks up into a shy smile. “I _was_ happy when I saw it.” He pauses, briefly turning his head away from her as a happy chuckle bubbles to the surface. “I mean… I was shocked, but… but I was also happy.”

“Really?” Jemma exhales in relief.

Fitz nods, scrunching his nose in a quick sniffle. “I cried.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t even quite say _why_ I cried exactly. I saw that you’re pregnant and I was completely overwhelmed but… but in a good way. I mean… for _months_ I battled with the idea that I had lost you and then… then you were back, finally back and… and suddenly I realized that there was _more_ than you.”

She stares at him for a moment, feeling her breathing become hitched and shaky. She squints, unable to stop tears from rolling down her cheeks, unable to stop her body from shaking with sobs.

She hears him get up from his chair, feels his hand on her shoulder, hears the concern in his voice. “What? Did I… did I say something wrong?”

She opens her eyes, shaking her head, torn between wanting to laugh and needing to cry. “No. God no, Fitz.”

She draws in a deep breath, trying to calm her breathing. “It’s just… The main reason why I couldn’t bring myself to mention the pregnancy in my letter was that… that I was scared that something could go wrong. That you’d get my letter, but something would go wrong and I wouldn’t—”

She has to pause, emotions once again threatening to overwhelm her body and mind. She exhales through her rounded lips to force a wave of relaxation through her body. “That I wouldn’t be able to come back to you and… and then you’d… then you’d know that you’d lost more than just me. I couldn’t… I didn’t want to cause you more pain than I already had, Fitz. I—”

“Shhhhh.” He leans forward, gently pressing his lips against hers. Jemma closes her eyes, savoring how the feeling of his lips on hers and his breath mixing with her own calms her.

“You’re here, Jemma.” His forehead is resting against hers and somehow it seems to Jemma as if she could hear his voice even if he weren’t speaking out loud. “You’re _all_ here and we’ll figure things out. Together. No matter what happens, at least we’ll be in it together again, okay?”

Jemma nods, her eyes still closed. She curls her hand around his neck, pulling him in for another kiss, allowing their lips to dance gently with each other.

“Oh,” she gasps in surprise.

Fitz leans slightly back, his eyes wide and anxious. “What?”

A smile flashes across Jemma’s face. Quickly, she grabs his hand, placing it on her stomach. Fitz’s eyes double in size and she notices tears shooting to the surface, his breathing excited and nervous.

“Oh, I’ve wanted you to feel this for so long, Fitz.”

He lets out a brief chuckle, bringing his second hand closer to her stomach as well, but hesitating, gesturing at the hem of her shirt. “May I?”

Jemma can’t help but smile ear to ear. “Of course.”

Carefully, Fitz pushes her shirt up, bringing his hands to her naked stomach, his palms barely touching the skin, his eyes fixed on the morphing shape of her stretched belly.

“Does it hurt?” he asks with a mix of concern and curiosity.

Jemma laughs. “No. Not really. I… I can’t quite describe it, but… but it doesn’t hurt. It’s… I don’t know—” She squints, trying to come up with a description. “Have you ever felt so bloated that you can actually feel the gas in your intestines moving?”

It’s the best she can come up with and it causes Fitz to laugh out loud. “You’re comparing our baby’s movements to a bad case of flatulence?”

Jemma joins his laughing fit, shrugging her shoulders apologetically. “Well, like I said, I can’t quite describe it. It’s very strange really, but also fascinating and… and amazing.”

Slowly, his laughing subsides and Fitz’s eyes grow more serious again. He presses his hands a bit more firmly against her stomach, shifting them to lovingly trace the baby’s movements. He leans further forward, bringing his face so close to her stomach that Jemma can feel his breath on her skin. Absentmindedly, she combs her fingers through his hair as he watches her belly change shapes, seemingly completely mesmerized by the experience.

Her stomach muscles tighten reflexively when a tear drips off his cheek and onto her skin. He sniffs, quickly brushing the water away with his fingers, lifting his head and looking at her apologetically. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Jemma lets out a quiet laugh. “That’s quite alright.”

He takes a step back to the head of the bed again, leaning closer, his hand caressing her cheek, his thumb wiping away a few stray trails of half-dried tears.

“I love you, Jemma,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Jemma exhales a shaky breath, her chin quivering. She reaches for his face, feeling his prickly stubble against the palm of her hand. “I love you too, Fitz. So much.”

She inhales deeply when his lips press against hers, as if she could breath in their kiss and make it an everlasting part of herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I did my fair research into sedatives during pregnancy (including reading a medical article about sedatives for pregnant women in the ICU) and talked with my friend, and obviously it's not necessarily recommended unless it's absolutely necessary. I know that in reality, Lincoln may have opted against giving Jemma a sedative and just hope she'd fall asleep on her own. BUT, for story purposes, I needed Jemma to fall asleep and fall asleep quickly, so the midazolam is mainly there because of that, not for realism.
> 
> Additional notes:
> 
> Okay, so I've come up with at least one more chapter idea, so tentatively, I'm gonna say 15 Chapters.
> 
> The next chapter might be on the shorter side (although my beta readers have reminded me that every time I say that, the next chapter ends up even longer than the previous one :D )


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said, this might be a shorter chapter? How does 7k words sound? I don't know why I always misjudge so completely how long things will get, but I hope you won't mind.
> 
> Possible trigger warnings: Prenatal medical exam (nothing too descriptive though). Mention of possible genetic disorders and birth defects.
> 
> Also: Meet Mindy and Zachary Davis :)

Jemma had spent the last half hour telling Fitz about her experience in vivid detail. She’d been afraid at first to open up, worried that it would overwhelm her to pull those memories back to the surface. But Fitz had listened to her with patience, cradling her hand in his, stroking it reassuringly, his eyes fixed on her, filled with worry and admiration. Somehow, it had made it easy, allowed the words to flow from her tongue without hesitation.

It had been half an hour and yet Jemma feels like she’s barely scratching the surface. She’s only now come to the part where Will had dragged her to the cave after she’d managed to escape his prison, the part where oh-so-slowly she’d started to trust the stranger who’d been stranded on the desert planet for more than a decade.

“So, I told him that I would be the voice of hope and he would be the voice of doom and we’d keep each other in check,” Jemma recounts, a shy smile playing on her lips.

She shrugs. “And that worked more or less, I’d say. I mean, Will can be very stubborn.”

Fitz raises his eyebrows. “Sure, because you’re so—”

Jemma gasps in fake protest. “Leopold Fitz, don’t you dare finish that sentence!”

He laughs out loud, raising his hands apologetically, but grinning from ear to ear, and Jemma can’t help but chuckle herself, before drawing in a deep breath, preparing to continue her story.

“He refused to let me go to the no-fly zone for _two_ months because of _It_.” She rolls her eyes and Fitz fails to suppress a snicker. “And even then, I basically just took off because I wasn’t willing to wait around any longer.”

Jemma raises her finger importantly. “And I was right, because that’s _exactly_ where I found the sextant and the answer to our question of how to get home and—”

She pauses, her expression growing more serious. “But I shouldn’t be too critical, really. He was… Will was there for me. Very supportive. When I realized I was pregnant and… and was just so… so overwhelmed and shocked, _he_ became the voice of hope.”

A quiet laugh bubbles to the surface, helping her to keep the tears at bay. “And when I needed a kick in the you-know-what because I was so completely obsessed with the computer running the numbers that I ignored my own needs or the baby’s needs, Will was there, and—”

Jemma falls silent and sighs, her eyes wandering aimlessly across her stomach, the bed, the room. Her mind seems to have reached a stopping point. She turns back to face Fitz, smiling weakly at him, noticing the worry in his eyes grow.

“Bobbi said he’s doing okay?” she asks.

A smile flashes across Fitz’s face and he nods, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “Yeah. She said all things considered.”

Jemma exhales a breath of relief. “Right.” Once again her eyes meander, exploring the white walls and the interior of her room. “I’m sure the isolation room helps. Adjusting gravity and all that.”

She looks back at Fitz, her smile laced with sincerity and admiration. “What you’ve designed here, Fitz, it’s… it’s extraordinary.”

His gaze falls to his lap, one corner of his mouth ticking up shyly, before turning his head to look at her. “Could have done it twice as fast with you.”

Jemma chuckles briefly, before pressing her lips into a thin line, feeling tears making their way to the surface. “I’m sorry,” she whispers quietly.

Fitz’s eyes widen in surprise. “Sorry? Jemma, it’s not like you volunteered to be swallowed by a rock.”

She can’t help but laugh at his comment.

He squeezes her hand, his thumb gliding gently back and forth. “You have nothing to apologize for, you realize that, right?”

“I do,” Jemma sniffles, nodding in affirmation, but lifting her shoulders at the same time. “Still.”

Fitz inhales slowly, never taking his eyes of her, and slowly Jemma feels her mind calm down.

“I’ll check on him later. Okay? Promise,” Fitz remarks.

A grateful smile flashes across Jemma’s face. “Thank you.”

Fitz bobs his head in confirmation. “And I’ll make sure they bring you some food if the doctor okays it.”

Jemma closes her eyes, exhaling in delight at the thought. “Oh god, yes.” She wrinkles her forehead. “I mean, probably something light. Easy digestible.”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

Jemma sighs, looking down at her torn and sandy makeshift maternity clothes and her scratched up, bruised, and dirty calves.

“And then I want to take a shower and sleep some more,” she says, feeling her eyes glaze over, before beginning to laugh quietly, shaking her head.

“What?” Fitz asks, a smile playing on his lips, though his eyes stare at her in mild confusion.

She brings her focus back to Fitz. “We were… When Will and I were hiking to the canyon, where… where I sent the message, well, we talked about what we would do first when we got home. Eat. Shower. Or Sleep. Will chose eat, but _I_ said I’d eat in the shower and fall asleep while doing it.”

Fitz laughs out loud. “You’re nothing if not efficient.”

Jemma can’t help but join his laughter. “Will basically said the same. I think you’ll really like him.”

Fitz shrugs, his lips pulled into a one-sided smile. “I think I already do.”

Jemma feels the tension in her cheeks from smiling so widely.

“Oh!” she exclaims suddenly, raising her finger. “He might challenge you to build a helicopter out of metal scraps and other junk.”

Fitz furrows his eyebrows in surprise and confusion. “Alright?”

“Well, when we were preparing to get to the first portal, I put Will in charge of—”

Jemma stops when she hears the sound of the sliding doors opening, her head intuitively turning to look at the entrance.

“Agent Davis,” Jemma welcomes the fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, who’s pushing a cart with a portable ultrasound and other medical devices into the room. Next to him a short woman with dark, wavy hair enters, smiling warmly.

Davis takes a few steps closer, bopping his head in a greeting before gesturing at the woman with his head. “Agent Simmons. Agent Fitz. This is my wife, Mindy, OB extraordinaire.”

Jemma smiles politely. “It’s very nice meeting you, Doctor Davis.”

“Likewise,” Doctor Davis replies. “Zack talks about you two a lot.” She draws a half-circle into the air as if to announce the title of a movie. “Fitzsimmons. His favorite science duo. I think you got something of a fan here,” she nudges her husband with her elbow, grinning mischievously while Agent Davis stares back at his wife as if to shush her with his eyes.

Davis gestures at the cart he’s pushing. “Where do you want this?”

“Put the ultrasound right next to the bed, please. Thanks,” she instructs him before turning back to look at Jemma and Fitz. Something about the way her brown eyes sparkle fills Jemma with ease and trust in the medical doctor.

“If you don’t mind,” Doctor Davis continues. “I’d suggest we switch to first names. It makes things a bit more personal. Easier to open up about questions, problems, concerns.”

“Oh,” Jemma exclaims, wide-eyed. “Of course. I’m Jemma.”

“Jemma,” Mindy repeats, before looking expectantly at Fitz.

“Umm, Fitz.” His eyes nervously dart in Jemma’s direction and Jemma can’t help but smile over the way he seems flustered. “I mean. I know that’s my last name, but… it’s kind of—”

“Fitz. Got it,” Mindy interrupts him and Fitz sighs in relief.

“Alright.” Mindy rubs her hands together, looking around the cart and the medical equipment Lincoln had left in the room earlier. “I think I got everything I need except for privacy with my patient,” she adds, turning her head to stare silently at her husband.

“Gotcha.” Davis nods in affirmation, before leaning down to give his wife a quick peck on the lips. He straightens up, looking directly at Jemma. “You’re in good hands, Agent Simmons. I mean. I’m biased, but still—”

Jemma feels the corners of her lips pull into a wide smile, trying to ignore the anxious thumping of her heart. “Thank you, Agent Davis.”

Davis bops his head

“Would you like Fitz to stay?” Mindy asks.

“Yes, of course,” Jemma exclaims, her hand reflexively squeezing Fitz’s to reassure herself that he’s not about to leave. “He… he’s the father.”

“Oh.” Mindy’s eyes widen and she exchanges a quick look with her husband, who shrugs barely noticeably. “See, _that_ was something that didn’t come up in the brief.”

“They… They didn’t know,” Fitz explains. “I mean… I mean, I told Bobbi earlier, but… but she probably thought it wasn’t her business to tell anyone else.”

Mindy’s expression softens and she smiles reassuringly. “There’s absolutely no need to explain.”

She turns to look at Agent Davis, who nods, clearly having caught his wife’s silent request, and leaves the room.

Mindy turns her head towards the door, waiting for it to close, before bringing her attention back to Jemma and Fitz. “Alright. So, considering that _you’re_ the father, I can save myself the question as to whether there’s any chance this baby has some alien DNA I should be worried about, and isn’t that a question I never thought I’d have to even contemplate during my career?”

Jemma chuckles politely at Mindy’s humorous comment, forcing herself to keep smiling long after the genuine laugh has disappeared.

Mindy’s expression grows more serious, although she maintains the hint of a reassuring smile. “First things first, Jemma. Now that it’s just the three of us you can wipe that attempt at a brave smile off your face. I know you must be worried and it’s okay to be worried and to _show_ that you’re worried. I mean, I just spent over an hour hearing about a black rock of some sort that swallowed a person and apparently dragged her to the other side of the galaxy to a desert planet with no sunlight and barely any food, and that said person returned six months later with a bun in the oven which—and I hope you’ll forgive me my bluntness—presumably wasn’t exactly planned. I’d be freaked out if even just _one_ of those things had happened to me. Now the fact that you’re sitting here, is proof enough for me that you’re one hell of a kickass woman, but know that right now, sharing your concerns with me and with Fitz, is far more valuable than hiding behind a courageous façade. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jemma whispers quietly, grateful for the doctor’s straightforwardness.

“And the same goes for you, Fitz, although the mother and the baby will _always_ be my top priority.”

Fitz nods in understanding.

“Now,” Mindy continues, her voice calm and assertive, her eyes focused on Jemma. “Obviously, your situation is a bit different from my usual patients, but that doesn’t really change anything about the way I work. For starters, I’m aware that you have quite a bit of medical knowledge yourself, Jemma. However, and I realize this may be hard, I need you to remember that _you_ are the patient, and _I_ am your medical provider. You can ask me anything and there are no stupid questions, okay? But give me a chance to do the exam, tell you what I think, what I notice, rather than jumping to your own conclusions, okay?”

“I will do my best,” Jemma replies, smiling shyly.

“And I will do my best to remind her to do her best,” Fitz adds, one corner of his mouth ticked up ever so slightly.

Mindy lets out a quick chuckle. “Well, there you go. That sounds like a good agreement. Okay, so, for starters. Doctor Campbell brought me up to speed about what he’s done so far and as far as first response measures go, I’d say he did everything he could do. The blood tests he’s run are all very standard blood panels and—unsurprisingly—your body is deficient in just about everything at the moment. So, our first order of business—and Doctor Campbell already got you started on that—is get you hydrated and try to balance out those deficiencies as best we can. My main concerns are iron intake, folate, and certain vitamins. I doubt we can clear out the deficiencies entirely, but at least we can help you and the baby catch up and lower certain risks, like hemorrhage.”

“Okay,” Jemma replies quietly, glancing at Fitz, who looks nervously between her and Mindy, who smiles reassuringly.

“Now, there are some other tests I’d like to run to rule out certain genetic defects, Down Syndrome, Tay-sachs, trisomy 18, cystic fibrosis, these kinds of things. I want to do an amniocentesis, not just to test for defects but also because we can test the baby’s lung maturity that way. I realize you might worry about the possible drawbacks of the procedure, Jemma, but—”

“Drawbacks?” Fitz interjects, his eyebrows slightly raised.

“Yes, as with just about any medical procedure, there are risks involved,” Mindy explains. “Doing an amnio could induce preterm labor, just to give you one example. But I assure you, Fitz, in Jemma’s case, the benefits far outweigh the risks. Her situation is so unusual that I want to be as prepared as I possibly can be, which means running every test I can think of.”

“I agree,” Jemma replies, looking reassuringly at Fitz and squeezing his hand gently.

“Alright,” Fitz replies quietly, the corner of his mouth ticking up just a tad.

“Good. And like I said, don’t hesitate to ask questions.” Mindy looks from Fitz to Jemma and back, waiting for them to nod in confirmation before continuing to speak. “I’ll save the amnio for after the ultrasound, but do you think you can pry your left arm away from Fitz for a second so I can take some more blood, considering that your right arm already got poked and prodded enough today?”

Jemma chuckles, exchanging a knowing look with Fitz before looking back at Mindy. “I think we’ll manage to let go of each other for just a moment.”

“Excellent,” Mindy says, grabbing the necessary supplies from the table and walking around the bed to the other side, waiting for Fitz to get up and make room, before quickly getting to work to draw some more ampullas of blood.

“There you go, Fitz, her hand is all yours again,” Mindy announces as she removes the rubber band from Jemma’s arm and steps to the side to return to her chair on the other side of the bed.

Fitz immediately sits back down next to Jemma, grabbing her hand and bringing it up to his lips, kissing it gently. Jemma feels a warmth radiating through her body as his blue eyes gaze at her with love and adoration and almost reflexively her lips pull into a smile.

“God, you two are nauseatingly adorable.”

Jemma chuckles shyly, biting her lower lip while her eyes wander to her lap as she feels her cheeks blush.

“Well,” she stammers, unable to meet the doctor’s eyes. “We… we haven’t seen each other for so long now and this is all very… it’s new and—”

Jemma pauses, looking up when she hears Mindy laugh quietly.

“Remember the part where I said there’s no need to explain,” she reminds Jemma. “Go ahead and be adorable. Something tells me you more than deserve that.”

Jemma turns back to Fitz, smiling at him widely, noticing her eyes well up ever so slightly. “Yeah, I think we do,” she remarks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Alright,” Mindy exclaims, bringing everyone’s attention back to her. “Time to explain today’s game plan.”

She waits until she’s sure that both Fitz and Jemma are listening carefully. “You’re thirty weeks pregnant, correct?”

“Yes,” Jemma confirms.

“Now, the vast, _vast_ majority of women would have had monthly exams starting as early as about the seventh or eighth gestational week up until the thirtieth, then switch to more frequent visits. The vast majority of women would have had some blood tests done, usually at least two ultrasounds, a glucose test, all these fancy kinds of things that you presumably didn’t exactly have access to on that desert alien planet I was told about.”

Jemma sighs. “Most certainly not.”

“What I’m trying to get at, is that all these things that are usually spread out over months, _you’re_ about to experience all at once, Jemma. And considering the stress you’ve no doubt been under while you were on that planet, just to survive let alone the fact that you had to deal with the surprise and the emotional and physical consequences of this pregnancy practically by yourself… well, my concern is that the experience of this medical exam might become overwhelming.”

Jemma inhales slowly, her hand intuitively gripping Fitz’s a bit tighter as her heart begins to beat faster. “What do you suggest?” she asks, her voice breathy and anxious.

A warm smile flashes across Mindy’s face. “I would like to go in little steps, so to speak. Ease you into the exam and give you the option of stopping at any point.”

“Okay,” Jemma whispers, realizing that it sounded far more like a question than an affirmation.

“For starters, I want to ask a few questions, get an idea of how you’ve been feeling during the pregnancy. Next, measure the fundal height. Then use the fetal doppler to listen for the baby’s heartbeat. And then do an ultrasound.”

“And the amnio,” Jemma adds matter-of-factly.

“And that, yes,” Mindy confirms, smiling slightly. “Now, ideally, I’d like to get through all of these procedures today. The sooner the better. _But_ —like I said—I don’t want it to become too overwhelming for you, so before we move on from one to the next, I will check in with you and make sure you’re up for it. How does that sound?”

Jemma inhales slowly, turning her head to look at Fitz for reassurance. One corner of his mouth is ticked up ever so slightly and his thumb is drawing calming circles on the back of her hand.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Jemma replies, confidently. “Let’s do it.”

“Excellent.” Mindy shifts slightly in her seat. She opens the small laptop lying on the same cart as the ultrasound device and lets her fingers rest on the keyboard. “So, questions first. When did you realize you were pregnant?”

Jemma scoffs. “Gosh. I was already eleven weeks pregnant when I realized it. It… I mean, I noticed certain symptoms like nausea, irritability, frequent urination, but I simply assumed that these were symptoms related to malnutrition, dehydration, insufficient hygiene. And, I assumed I missed my period because my body was simply in survival mode. It wasn’t until I told Will more about Fitz and the memory of our… of our night together came up and then… then all of a sudden it all made sense.”

Mindy nods understandingly. “Yeah. That makes a lot of sense. I’m not surprised that pregnancy wasn’t exactly the first thing that came to your mind.”

“There was some very mild spotting maybe around week six or seven,” Jemma remembers. “But… but that’s normal early on, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s not uncommon,” Mindy confirms. “You said it was mild?”

“Yes, _very_ mild. And really only for a day or two and then it was over.” Jemma shrugs. “I just assumed that was my body’s feeble attempt at maintaining my menstrual cycle. Like I said, it took me awhile until things finally clicked.”

“So, no severe morning sickness or anything like that?”

Jemma shakes her head, furrowing her brows. “I felt nauseous, but rarely felt the urge to throw up. Then again, there wasn’t much in my stomach to throw up for the first several weeks. I… I didn’t find a source of water for four days, and it was three _weeks_ before I managed to procure a food source, which obviously wasn’t particularly nutritious or plentiful. I… I’m sure I lost a significant amount of weight during the first trimester and I know that—”

Jemma stops when Mindy places her hand on Jemma’s arm. “Don’t worry about that right now and _definitely_ don’t feel guilty or judge yourself because of that. You were _abducted_ by a rock and taken to a different planet. You had _no_ idea you were even pregnant at the time. You had to survive. And you _did_ survive and you did _everything_ you could under the circumstances. Your baby is alive _because_ you survived the way you did. And even if you’d known you were pregnant, you couldn’t really have done anything differently. You did everything right. Okay?”

Jemma feels her chin quiver. She closes her eyes, overwhelmed by the tears sneaking to the surface.

“She’s right, Jemma.” Fitz’s voice is soft and quiet and Jemma can’t help but smile when she opens her eyes, looking in his direction and seeing him look straight back at her with pride and love.

She draws in a shaky breath, quickly freeing her hand from Fitz’s grasp to wipe away a few stray tears, before placing it straight back into his open palm. She turns her head, focusing back on Mindy. “Alright. Let’s continue.”

“Alright.” Mindy bops her head, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as her fingers return to the keyboard of her laptop. “When did you feel it move for the first time?

“At twenty weeks,” Jemma replies, unable to stop from smiling at the memory.

Mindy types a few words, her eyes wandering between her laptop screen and Jemma. “That’s good. And have you felt it move pretty regularly ever since?”

Jemma nods vehemently. “Oh yes. Definitely. It’s been moving quite a bit actually. _Especially_ every time I try to sleep.”

Mindy lets out a little laugh. “Ahhh, yes, they tend to do that, don’t they?”

“They do?” Fitz chimes in, his forehead wrinkled in surprised confusion.

“Oh yes. It’s very normal,” Mindy explains. “Think about it. Repetitives movements, like being a passenger on a train or in a car, tend to make people pretty sleepy, right?” She scoffs. “I mean, when Zack and I go on a road trip, he’s usually out cold by the time we hit the city limits. The baby is basically a passenger on mommy-train, and mommy-train moves around all day, and it’s comfy and cozy and soothing and lulls them right to sleep. That’s also why babies tend to calm down or fall asleep when you carry them around or push them around in a stroller. But, once the moving stops, the baby’s like ‘Hey, what just happened? Are we there? Guess it’s time to wake up and kick mommy in her bladder.’”

Fitz’s mouth had slowly been opening wider and wider while his eyebrows had risen higher and higher as if two forces were pulling his face in opposing directions. “Bloody hell! What an annoying little bugger.”

Both Jemma and Mindy laugh out loud.

“They definitely can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” Mindy confirms. “But they’re also stinkin’ adorable and that makes it next to impossible to hold a grudge against them.”

Jemma looks at Fitz, beaming ear to ear. “Sometimes I got annoyed when I couldn’t sleep because this little monkey thought my stomach was a circus tent ready to put on a show, but… but feeling it move was the only proof I had that it was alive. So like Mindy said, it’s hard to hold a grudge.”

Fitz swallows, his eyes appearing misty and his expression suddenly rather serious. “It was amazing to feel it move.” He chuckles, looking down half-embarrassed. “I mean, I only felt external proof of that bad case of flatulence you described earlier.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Ugh, Fitz.”

“You’re not the first woman to describe it that way, let me tell you,” Mindy remarks, laughing quietly.

Jemma immediately turns her head to face Fitz, exclaiming a triumphant “Ha!” which causes Fitz to once again begin to snicker.

Mindy takes a deep breath. “How ‘bout we try to get back to our exam?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Alright, so. Baby moves like a champ. Have you felt any hiccoughs?” Mindy asks, returning her attention to the laptop in front of her.

“Yes. Now and then,” Jemma replies.

“Wait,” Fitz interjects, his eyes wide and surprised. “The baby has hiccoughs?”

Mindy purses her lips. “Sure does.”

Fitz slumps his shoulders. “I… I feel like a complete idiot. I don’t know any of these things.”

Jemma squeezes Fitz’s hand reassuringly. “Oh, Fitz. You’re an engineer. A brilliant engineer. And for an engineer, you know a lot more about biology and biochemistry than is strictly necessary, but I really don’t think you should expect yourself to know the finer nuances of pregnancy. That’s not exactly a topic that would have come up or proven particularly useful in the line of work we’re doing.”

Fitz sighs. “Well, I should at least get some books or something _now_ , to catch up on things.”

“I’ll gladly recommend some, if you’d like,” Mindy chimes in, and Fitz replies with an enthusiastic “Yes, definitely!”

“Alright, Jemma, I think I’m done with questions for now. How do you feel? Are you up for the next step: fundal height?”

“Yes, that seems easy enough.” Jemma smiles, her smile far more confident than her nervous heartbeat.

“Great.” Mindy turns, reaching her hands forward and gesturing at Jemma’s shirt. “May I?”

Jemma nods. “Yes, of course.”

Mindy smiles and pulls the hem of Jemma’s shirt up and over her stomach, before reaching back and grabbing the measuring tape that’s lying next to her laptop.

“Let’s see then,” she says as she unrolls the tape, bringing one end to Jemma’s pubic bone and following the outline of the pregnancy bump until she reaches the top of the uterus. “Twenty-eight centimeters,” she announces, removing the tape and pulling Jemma’s shirt back down.

Jemma can’t stop a quiet gasp from escaping her lips. “That’s too short, isn’t it? It… it should be thirty? It should match the number of gestational weeks, no?”

Mindy reaches for Jemma’s arm, squeezing it reassuringly. “Try to relax, Jemma. Remember what I told you about letting _me_ do the exam and trying not to jump to conclusions?”

Jemma exhales a shaky breath. “I said I’d _try_.”

Mindy chuckles quietly. “Well then. Let _me_ explain. I have a feeling Fitz might appreciate a bit more information, too.”

Jemma sighs, looking at Fitz who is indeed staring wide-eyed and anxious back at them. “Yes, please do explain.”

“So, _yes_ , the rule of thumb _is_ that between about the sixteenth and the thirty-sixth week of gestation the fundal height in centimeters approximately corresponds with the number of weeks. However, I’d like to emphasize that it _is_ just an approximation. It’s not a dead-set rule. Twenty-eight centimeters suggests that the baby might be on the shorter side, approximately the size of an average-sized baby at twenty-eight weeks. Could be because of the less-than-ideal conditions you faced during your pregnancy. Could simply be genes. No offense, but neither you nor Fitz seem to have been kissed by the tall-and-giant fairy.”

Jemma chuckles, enjoying the sound of Fitz’s quiet laughter next to her.

“It could be a combination of both. It could _also_ be that the baby is completely average in size,” Mindy continues. “And it’s your stomach that’s tiny. In either case, the fact that the number doesn’t match your gestational week is not necessarily cause for concern. Okay?”

Jemma sighs, feeling a certain degree of relief wash over her. “Okay,” she replies quietly but confidently.

“Now, if you’re up for it, I’d like to use the Doppler next to listen for the baby’s heartbeat.”

Jemma notices her breathing quicken and a smile spreading across her face. Intuitively, her hand moves to her stomach. She looks over at Fitz, whose eyes are beaming with anticipation.

“I’m a bit nervous, I’ll admit.” Jemma exhales, closing her eyes and feeling the baby shift below the palm of her hand. “But I can’t wait.”

“Alright.” Mindy grabs the ultrasound gel. “Fitz, could you push Jemma’s shirt back up?”

“Umm. Sure,” Fitz replies shyly, before letting go of Jemma’s hand and carefully grabbing the hem of the shirt to push it back up over the baby bump.

“Now, this might feel a little cold.”

Jemma feels the muscles in her stomach tense at the sensation of the cool gel meeting her skin and a quiet gasp escapes her lips.

“Here we go.” Mindy grabs the Doppler, hovering with it over Jemma’s stomach. “It might take me a moment to find the heartbeat, so don’t get nervous if you don’t hear something right away.”

Both Jemma and Fitz nod in confirmation, both staring at the small handheld medical device. Mindy gently presses the head of the Doppler against Jemma’s belly and once again, Jemma’s muscles briefly tense at the unfamiliar sensation.

White noise echoes through the room as Mindy slowly moves the Doppler across the skin, occasionally pressing a little harder against Jemma’s stomach. Jemma notices how her hand grips Fitz’s tighter, how her own heart seems to beat faster with each moment that passes.

Jemma gasps when the white noise is interrupted by a second, fast and rhythmic sound. She looks at Mindy, who smiles at her widely.

“There it is,” the doctor confirms.

Jemma’s head turns in Fitz’s direction, who looks back at her with watery eyes, his lips slightly parted in awe. Jemma feels her own eyes well up and her breathing become more ragged. She closes her eyes, her baby’s heartbeat still echoing quietly in her ears, and feels tears running down her cheeks. Her lips pull into a smile while her body shakes with a mix of sobbing and laughter.

Eventually, she opens her eyes, looking down at where Mindy is still pushing the Doppler into her stomach. She exhales a shaky breath of relief, unable to stop from smiling. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Fitz sounds quiet and breathless. “And fast… it’s so fast.”

“Hundred forty beats per minute,” Mindy explains, keeping her voice low. “Anything between hundred twenty and hundred sixty is normal. So this is excellent.”

“There you go, little monkey.” Jemma can’t help but chuckle proudly. “A perfect heart rate.”

“Do you think you have it in you to do the ultrasound next? Or should we stop here?”

Jemma looks up at Mindy. “Umm.” Her eyes glance back at her stomach, her ears once again picking up the regular, fast rhythm mixed with the white noise of the Doppler monitor. “No, we can do the ultrasound, but… but could I listen to the heartbeat for just a moment longer?”

Mindy nods ever so slightly, a smile lingering on her lips. “It’s quite something, isn’t it?”

“It sure is.” Jemma’s cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so widely. Slowly, she looks back at Fitz, squeezing his hand gently. “What do you think?”

Fitz scoffs, shaking his head slightly, his eyes wandering to Jemma’s stomach. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

He looks up. “Am I still breathing? ‘cause I feel like maybe I stopped.”

Jemma laughs and Fitz’s lips pull into a one-sided grin. She lets her eyes wander back to her stomach, once again closing her eyes and listening to her baby’s heart. She draws in a slow breath, and exhales just as slowly through her open mouth, feeling a wave of happiness and joy rush through her.

She opens her eyes again, looking at Mindy. “ _Now_ we can do the ultrasound.”

“Alright.” Mindy lifts the Dopple from Jemma’s stomach. She cleans the head of the sensor and puts the device back on the cart next to the ultrasound machine.

“Now, before we get started: Would you like me to take a peek during the scan and see if—what did you call it?—little monkey is a boy or a girl?”

“Oh,” Jemma exclaims in surprise, wrinkling her forehead and turning to look at Fitz. “What do you think?”

Fitz looks at her wide-eyed. “Me? I… I… I’ve barely processed that all of this is real. I… I’m not sure I… I don’t think I care either way.”

Jemma sighs, wrinkling her forehead and looking down at her stomach, her fingers carefully gliding over her skin, trying to avoid the gelled up sections.

“Yes,” she says eventually, bopping her head confidently. “I think I’d like to learn as much as I can about this little monkey before it’s born.”

She looks back at Fitz. “Sounds good to me,” he says quietly, one corner of his mouth ticked up slightly.

“I’ll put that on my to-do list, then,” Mindy remarks. “But before I check on baby’s private bits, I’ll see if everything else is okay.”

“Yes, most definitely,” Jemma replies.

Mindy squeezes a bit more gel onto Jemma’s stomach, before bringing the transducer of the ultrasound device to her skin, turning the monitor with one hand to allow Jemma and Fitz to see the image on the screen.

“Bloody hell,” Fitz exhales when the outline of the baby’s face comes into view.

Jemma’s lips pull into a smile, while their baby becomes blurry in front of her eyes as they fill with happy tears. “Oh, Fitz. Look at that. It’s sucking on its thumb.”

“They… they do that?” Fitz asks, staring mesmerized at the screen.

“They do. They practice a lot of things that’ll come in handy outside the womb,” Mindy explains, keeping her hand steady to allow Jemma and Fitz to look at their baby’s face for a bit longer.

“That’s amazing,” Fitz mumbles quietly, a smile playing on his lips. “I think it has your nose,” he adds, turning his head slightly to look at Jemma.

“Oh, Fitz.” Jemma laughs, wrinkling her forehead in doubt.

Fitz raises his eyebrows. “No. Really. I… I think it does.”

Mindy chuckles quietly. “Alright. I’m gonna move on now. Take some measurements. Look at the baby’s anatomy. Don’t be surprised or alarmed if I turn quiet. Okay? I wanna finish the scan and then talk about my observations. And then, we go back and try to figure out little monkey’s sex.”

“Sounds good.”

Mindy holds the transducer head in the same position for a moment longer, before beginning to move it across Jemma’s stomach. Jemma’s eyes continuously wander from her baby bump to the ultrasound screen and back, making note of the occasional clicking sounds that are followed by little marks appearing on the screen. The sound of her own heartbeat mixes with the clicking of Mindy’s mouse and the white noise of the ultrasound.

“Alright,” Mindy announces after what feels like twenty minutes, lifting the transducer off Jemma’s belly and placing it next to the ultrasound device. She carefully wipes away the gel and pulls Jemma’s shirt back down.

Jemma looks expectantly at her doctor while squeezing Fitz’s hand tightly.

“Now, as the fundal height already suggested, the scan shows that baby is on the smaller side. The exact length is a bit of a guestimate, since it’s obviously got its legs pulled up and all that, but I’m thinking no more than fifteen inches right now. Like I said earlier that could be due to the dehydration and malnutrition you experienced, or it could be genes, or it could be a mix of both. It’s not really a cause for concern, but it’s something we’ll keep our eyes on.”

She pauses to ensure that Jemma and Fitz have a chance to process the information and follow up with questions. When neither speaks up, she continues. “The baby is currently head down, but at thirty weeks that doesn’t necessarily mean it’ll stay that way. It would be good if it did, but we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Do you think it will be born prematurely?” Jemma asks, trying to mask the nervous tremor in her voice.

“Obviously, I can’t predict that, but it is a possibility, yes.” Mindy nods, raising her eyebrows slightly. “I mean, technically, it’s _always_ a possibility, but in your case, with everything your body went through during this pregnancy, I definitely think you’re at a higher risk of going into preterm labor. Which, however, also means that we’ll prepare for exactly that. In fact, no matter what the amnio shows with regard to the baby’s lung maturity, I’d like to give you a course of antenatal steroids to give the baby a bit of a boost so to speak. And while I don’t think it’s necessary to put you on complete bed rest, I would advise you to take it very easy.”

Jemma scoffs quietly. “I think even if I weren’t pregnant, I’d want to take it easy right now.”

“There you go. Good attitude,” Mindy replies, smiling warmly. “Now, I did a thorough scan of the baby’s body and couldn’t detect any physical abnormalities. No signs of spina bifida, anencephaly, microcephaly, cleft palate. Nothing like that. All looking good.”

Jemma sighs in relief.

“That being said: there are certain defects that won’t show up in an ultrasound or aren’t easily detectable. It’s definitely, _definitely_ good news that everything so far looks clear, the baby’s heartbeat is strong and regular, it’s moving. These are all very positive signs, and I want you to focus on that. _But_ it doesn’t necessarily mean we’re in safe waters and once the baby is born, we’ll be sure to give it a _very_ thorough head-to-toe-and-brain-to-lungs-and-left-to-right examination to make sure we’re not missing anything.”

Jemma presses her lips together, trying to force a smile. She exhales a shaky breath as her eyes wander back to her stomach, only looking up when she notices Fitz squeezing her hand.

“It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.” His blue eyes look at her reassuringly and he nods ever so slightly, causing Jemma to mimic his expression.

“It’s already proven it’s a fighter, hasn’t it?” Jemma asks quietly.

“It’s got half your genes. ‘Course it’s a fighter,” Fitz adds, gently rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.

Jemma smiles, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. “Suppose it’s only to be expected that our combined genepool should create an extraordinary baby.”

“Shall we see if we can coax this extraordinary baby into revealing its sex to us?”

Both Jemma and Fitz look at Mindy, nodding in unison.

“Alright. Shirt up again and let’s take another peek.” Mindy grabs the bottle with the ultrasound gel, waiting for Fitz to lift Jemma’s shirt before squeezing the gel on Jemma’s stomach and picking up the transducer, pressing it firmly into the baby bump and moving it around slowly, stopping at various points and adjusting the angle.

Once again, Jemma’s excited heartbeat mixes with the swooshing sound of the ultrasound.

“Well,” Mindy announces, keeping the transducer as still as possible in one spot and freezing the image on the screen, before lifting the device off Jemma’s stomach, and wiping the belly clean.

“Well?” Jemma asks, wishing she wouldn’t sound quite so impatient.

Mindy grins almost mischievously. “I’m not gonna say I’m one hundred percent sure, because I _never_ say I’m one hundred percent sure, but I’m reasonably confident that this little monkey is a girl.”

Jemma’s eyes widen and her lips pull into a wide smile as she looks at her stretched out belly.

“A girl?” Fitz whispers and when Jemma turns to look at him, the way his eyes shine brightly and the way he smiles almost take her breath away.

“We’re having a girl.” Jemma chuckles quietly, noticing her eyes well up for what seems to be the hundredth time that day.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Doctor Dav—Mindy.”

Mindy lets out a quiet laugh. “If you’re still up for it, I’d like to do the amnio and start the steroids before giving you some privacy to process all of this. And I’ll be sure to let you have some of the ultrasound pics I took.”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Jemma exclaims.

“Yeah. I’m sure my mum would—oh.” Fitz stops, looking at Jemma wide-eyed, who feels like the air has been pushed out of her lungs.

“Oh god. Right. Our parents. _My_ parents. I… I wonder what they—” Jemma pauses, wrinkling her forehead, trying to calm her racing mind. “I mean, first no contact for six months and then what? I call them and say ‘Guess what? Surprise!’” Jemma draws in a few panicked breaths, noticing her head beginning to spin. “Oh god.”

“Hey,” Fitz says quietly, gently squeezing Jemma’s hand.

Jemma forces herself to look at him, trying in vain to stop from hyperventilating.

“Don’t worry about that. Okay?” Fitz’s voice is calm and reassuring. “‘Cause… ‘cause I think they’ll be excited and we… we can tell them the truth—well, as much as we’re given permission to but… but you can say that you were AWOL and that’s why they haven’t heard from you and… and the pregnancy… it… we’ll just tell them the truth and… It’ll be okay. It _will_ be okay. I promise!”

Jemma sighs, Fitz’s words allowing her to relax. “I guess you’re right. They… they’ll understand. They’ll be excited.” A faint chuckle escapes her lips. “Oh, I know your mum will be so thrilled.”

Fitz lets out a single laugh. “She’ll probably start knitting the second I hang up the phone. Quite possibly even before then.”

“How about we do the amnio and then I’ll get you the pictures?” Mindy chimes in, in between laughs. “Little visual aid might help the grandparents too.”

“Yes. Let’s finish up.” Jemma sighs deeply. “But before we start calling our parents, I’m gonna have to insist on eating something and taking a shower… if… if that’s alright with you, Doctor—Mindy.”

Mindy laughs out loud. “Oh hell yes! You take a shower once I’m gone and I’ll be sure to talk to whoever’s in charge of cooking around here to make sure you get something that your stomach can handle. I take it you know well enough not to overdo it.”

“I’ll definitely be careful.” Jemma rolls her eyes. “As long as it’s not some kind of plant-based porridge, I’ll be more than satisfied.”

Mindy rubs her hands together. “Alright. Let’s get things ready for the amnio then so that the space-warrior-slash-mommy-to-be can finally take a shower and get some real food into her system.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support of this fic. And if the anonymous prompter ever wants to let me know who they are, don't be shy, I'm loving this story more and more (but also cool if you want to remain anonymous).


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look. A 'short' 2500-word chapter for you :)
> 
> Also *throws confetti* THIS FIC HAS REACHED TWO HUNDRED KUDOS AND YOU GUYS ARE MAKING ME SO HAPPY!

Fitz stands in front of the closed doors, noticing his heart beat anxiously in his chest. He feels rather ridiculous, being nervous. There’s no reason to, really.

Except he’s about to meet the man with whom the woman he loves has spent the past five months, the man who’d been there for her when she’d realized she was pregnant, the man who’d felt the baby move long before Fitz had, the man who’d become like a brother to Jemma.

He remembers how nervous he’d been when he’d first met Liam. He’d barely managed to stammer out his own name in front of her older brother. And that was years before Fitz had even had the slightest inkling that maybe Jemma was more than just a friend to him.

Now he was so bloody damn sure of his feelings that meeting someone she’d become so close with, someone she considered family, seemed to make Fitz’s nervousness skyrocket.

It seems ridiculous to want Will’s approval. Fitz doesn’t need it. He’s not doubting Jemma’s feelings for him. Not anymore. And _her_ feelings are all that really matter.

And yet. Here he is. Heart thumping. Palms sweaty. Mouth dry. Hands trembling.

Fitz inhales slowly, then exhales sharply, before pushing the button to open the sliding doors.

Will looks up when he hears the door open. He’s sitting at the small table, a tray with food in front of him, wearing standard S.H.I.E.L.D. apparel. One corner of his mouth ticks up into a welcoming smile.

Fitz clears his throat and takes a step inside. “Umm. Hi. I… I’m Fitz.”

Will lets out a quiet chuckle, putting his spoon down next to his bowl of food. “Yeah. I know who you are. Jemma showed me some pictures.” He gestures in Fitz’s direction, his palm facing up as if he was trying to recall a memory. “And a video. That… that birthday video where you all got her that blue phone booth cake from that TV show she was so shocked I’d never seen.”

Fitz’s eyes widen in surprise. “The Tardis cake?” He wrinkles his forehead, leaning slightly forward and pointing at Will. “You… You’ve never seen Doctor Who? But… but you’re an astronaut. How can you be an astronaut and have never seen—” Fitz stops himself, straightening back up and retracting his hand. “You know what, never mind.”

Will laughs out loud. “You two really are two peas in a pod.”

Fitz can’t help but grin one-sidedly. He clears his throat again, taking another step into the room and gesturing at Will’s food. “They… they brought you food. Good. Jemma… Jemma was worried.”

Will nods, his eyes wandering to the bowl in front of him. “Yeah. Soup and water.” He looks back up, tilting his head to one side. “Not exactly the steak and beer I’d been hoping for but Jemma reminded me about twice a day that we’ll have to take it easy once we get back.”

Fitz bops his head in affirmation. “Yeah. Your stomachs aren’t used to digesting normal amounts of food or certain types of food anymore. It… it’ll take a few days at least.”

Will shrugs, pursing his lips slightly. “Small price to pay. It’s pretty good soup actually. Certainly beats a needle in my hand and a plastic bag on an infusion stand.” He lifts his hand, turning it so that Fitz can see the band-aid on its back.

“Good. Glad you’re enjoying S.H.I.E.L.D. cuisine.”

“Jemma okay?” Will asks, his eyes piercing at Fitz inquisitively.

“Yes. Yes, she is. I mean, all things considered.” Fitz nervously rubs his neck, before gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “She… she’s taking a shower now and then she’s gonna eat and sleep some more.”

Will scoffs, a smile playing on his lips. “Ah yes. The three essentials.” He points towards the bathroom door with his thumb. “I already did the whole shower and shave thing.” He reaches up, his hand gliding over his cheeks. “Can’t even remember the last time I’ve been clean shaven. Or used soap. Or a toilet for that matter. It’s weird. Such normal things to do and yet I somehow feel like royalty.”

A little puff of air escapes through Fitz’s nose and one corner of his mouth ticks up. He takes another step towards the table, tucking one hand into his pocket while holding on to the tablet he’s been carrying with the other. “How… how’s your body handling the transition? Jemma mentioned that her entire system seemed out of whack until we changed the atmosphere settings in her room. Before then, she felt some vertigo, sensory overload. Sounds, lights.”

Will furrows his brows, nodding in agreement. “Umm, yes. The… the water in the shower sounded like I was standing in the center of a thunderstorm. But all-in-all, I think it’s going okay.” He lifts his chin in the direction of the touch panel next to the sliding doors. “They showed me how to adjust the brightness of the lights. Gravity. All those settings. Helped a lot.” He pauses briefly, before adding, “Your tech?”

Fitz pulls his hand from his pocket, scratching the neck below his ear. “Yeah. Yeah, I designed the rooms for—” He shrugs. “Well, that’s classified… I think.”

Will scoffs, pressing his lips together and bopping his head in understanding. He draws in a slow breath, exhaling sharply. “So. What brings you here?”

Fitz clears his throat. “I promised Jemma I’d check on you and… and I wanted to thank you.” Nervously, Fitz’s eyes dart back and forth between Will and the ground of the isolation room.

Will’s eyebrows almost disappear in his hairline. “Thank me? For what? Standing idly by while Jemma figured out how to get us home? ‘Cause let’s face it, she really didn’t need me for that.”

Fitz lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head ever so slightly. “No. I know… I know she doesn’t really need help with anything but… but I know… well, she might not want to admit it, but she doesn’t like being alone. She likes bouncing ideas off people, even if people don’t have a clue what she’s talking about—” He scoffs, his lips pulling into a one-sided grin as an old memory finds its way into the foreground of his mind. “I mean, we once visited my mum in Glasgow and by the time I joined them for breakfast in the morning, Jemma had explained—” Fitz pauses, clearing his throat and looking back at Will. “I’m glad she wasn’t alone. Jemma said you were there for her and you gave her hope and kicked her stubborn arse when she needed it and… I wanted to thank you.”

Will purses his lips, nodding slightly but not saying anything in return.

Fitz’s eyes wander to the floor as an awkward silence settles in the room, causing his hairs to stand on edge.

“Is the baby okay?”

Fitz looks back up at Will’s question, smiling at the reminder of his and Jemma’s daughter. “Yeah. Yeah, she—” He pauses briefly, sighing in a mix of worry and relief. “She’s small. Smaller than she should be, but the doctor couldn’t detect any visible defects and… and she’s moving and—”

“She?” Will interupts him, his eyes beaming with a happy warmth. “It’s a girl?”

“Yeah.” Fitz nods, noticing his lips pulling into an even wider smile. “She’s beautiful.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Fitz’s gaze falls back to the ground and he feels his smile fade as his mind suddenly floods with a mix of old memories and future fears.

“You’re okay?” Will’s voice is quiet, laced with concern.

Fitz clears his throat, blinking away tears that are threatening to reach the surface. “Yeah… yeah, I’m—”

He pauses, trying to stop himself from hyperventilating, before shaking his head, shrugging in confusion. “I don’t know. It’s… it’s starting to really sink in, I guess. Everything was so hectic and… and happening so fast. I mean, it’s just been a few hours and now… now it’s… it’s becoming real or something and—”

He draws in a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his rounded lips, his eyes staring at an undefined spot in front of him. “I never… I never thought about… I never… and—” He hears the air leave his lungs and somehow it feels as if his body is incapable of inhaling again.

“I guess I’m scared,” Fitz admits, barely above a whisper.

“Of what?” Will asks quietly, getting up from his chair and walking towards Fitz.

Through the corners of his eyes, Fitz looks at the man approaching him, the man who’s practically a stranger and yet somehow feels so familiar, somehow feels like family. He drops his gaze back to the floor. “I… My… my dad was… he was… well he said things and… and did things that… to me… and—”

Fitz clears his throat, sniffling slightly, rubbing the heel of his hand across his eyes. “I have a temper sometimes. I lose it. Throw things. Swipe things off tables.”

He shrugs, his eyes briefly darting up to Will before retreating back to the anonymous safety of the floor. “I… I’m scared that… I wouldn’t want to… I mean… What if—?”

Fitz flinches when he feels Will’s hand on his shoulder, but relaxes when he sees the friendliness and warmth in Will’s eyes.

“Listen, Fitz. I obviously don’t know you very well, or your story, but Jemma talked about you a lot.” He scoffs, grinning one-sidedly. “To the point of getting annoying sometimes.”

Fitz feels a weak smile flashing across his face.

“Jemma mentioned your dad,” Will continues, shrugging slightly. “Didn’t say much about him, but she didn’t have to. What she implied and what you imply paints a pretty good picture. The guy was an abusive ass who left you and your mom when you were a kid and from the sounds of it, him leaving may not have been the worst thing that could have happened, quite the opposite.”

Will squeezes Fitz’s shoulder a bit more firmly. “Now your dad may be an ass, but Jemma also talked about your mom.”

Curiously, Fitz lifts his chin a bit higher.

“Jemma said she’d never met anyone with a heart as big as your mom’s… except maybe the son she raised.”

Fitz notices the corner of his mouth twitching nervously, somehow too shy to actually smile. “She said that?”

“Yeah.” Will nods, keeping his eyes fixed on Fitz. “Look. Maybe you have a temper. But have you ever lashed out physically at another person when you lose it?”

“No.” Fitz furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head ever so slightly.

“Do you want to?”

Fitz’s eyes widen in shock. “ _No!_ ”

His reply seems to amuse Will, who chuckles quietly. “Look, Fitz. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who doesn’t lose their calm at some point, okay? But from everything I’ve heard about you, I have no reason to believe that you would _ever_ turn out to be like your father. Sounds to me like you’re your mother’s son, not his! And the fact that you’re worried about what kind of father you might be tells me that you have nothing to worry about.”

Fitz sniffs, reaching up to quickly wipe away the tear that’s snaking down his cheek. “Thanks,” he whispers.

Will gives Fitz’s shoulder another squeeze before patting it gently. “And if you still doubt yourself after my little pep talk here, then know that Jemma thinks you’ll be a great father. She told me so.”

“She did?” Fitz can’t help the shy smile that creeps up his face.

“Yeah.”

Fitz’s eyes wander to the ground, his mind drifting off, trying to process everything Will had told him. It takes him a moment to realize that Will’s still standing next to him looking at him with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

Fitz clears his throat, his hand curling around the back of his neck, trying to massage away some of the nervous tension. “So… umm… Jemma mentioned something about you wanting to challenge me to build a helicopter out of garbage or something like that.”

Will laughs out loud, shaking his head. “Yeah. That… I think looking at this room and hearing about some of the tech you’ve designed, I’ll just forfeit right off the bat.”

Fitz chuckles briefly, shrugging his shoulders. “Fine by me. Still have no clue what it was even all about.”

“Jemma can fill you in on the details.”

“Right.”

“So. What’s that thing?” Will asks, gesturing at the tablet Fitz’s been clutching.

“Oh. That.” Fitz brings the tablet up, holding it so that Will can see it better. “It… it’s a tablet, sort of like a computer, but handier. It has internet access and… well… I can show you how it works.” He gestures towards the table and Will takes the hint, walking back to his chair and sitting down.

Fitz hands him the tablet, allowing Will to turn and inspect it from every angle, while Fitz explains. “I thought maybe you… you’d want to catch up on things. News or something. Or I can show you how to access books, movies, TV shows. I… I can set you up to watch Doctor Who, if you’d like—” He pauses, wrinkling his forehead when Will’s head shoots up to look at him skeptically. “Although, I suppose a show about a space-and-time-travelling alien might not exactly be what you’re looking for right now.”

Will nods, his eyebrows still furrowed in doubt. “Yeah. I think I’ll pass on that for now.”

He looks back at the tablet, turning it one more time back to front. “Jemma tried to bring me up to speed on the most important world events but she wasn’t much help when it came to sports. Think I’m gonna catch up on the last few Super Bowls and World Series. See if the Red Sox finally broke the curse.”

“Curse?”

Will looks up. “Yeah. The Curse of the Bambino.”

Fitz wrinkles his forehead in confusion, staring intensely at Will, hoping for a better explanation.

“The Curse of the Bambino?” Will repeats, this time more of a disbelieving question than a statement. “Red Sox? Baseball? Haven't won a World Series since 1918 when they sold Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees?”

“Umm.” Fitz smiles shyly in slight embarrassment. “Yeah. Baseball’s not really my… I mean, I’m about as much of a sports person as Jemma is.” He ticks his head to the side. “Although I sometimes watch football with Hunter. Well—” He pauses, circling his index finger in the air in an attempt to revise his statement. “I mean, soccer.”

Fitz shakes his head slightly. “We can never agree on what team to root for, though. And Hunter’s so… I mean, Liverpool? _Really?_ It’s just—” Fitz stops when he realizes that he’s been muttering to himself more than to Will. “Sorry. Nevermind.”

Will chuckles, waving Fitz off. “Quite alright.”

Fitz draws in a slow breath, grabbing the back of the second chair and pulling it closer to Will’s before sitting down. “Alright. So… how ‘bout I show you how this works?”

“Sounds great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chances are this fic will end up with more than the currently estimated fifteen chapters total... I'm just gonna stop guesstimating ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't originally planned but one of my beta readers and some of your comments gave me the idea, so here it is :)

Jemma had been eating when Fitz returned from visiting Will; a very basic broth with various vegetables, cooked to the point that she could use her tongue to smush them and delicately seasoned. It hadn’t exactly been the romantic dinner she’d imagined for months, but Fitz had simply smiled and told her they’d take a rain check. Jemma had been happy to hear an update on Will and that he and Fitz had had a chance to bond.

Lincoln had checked up on her a little later and had given her the okay to use the larger bed in the isolation room rather than the somewhat uncomfortable medical bed. He’d also told her that as long as she felt up for it and promised to take it easy, she could venture out of the room at any point the next day.

Jemma had gladly accepted Fitz’s offer to stay overnight and they’d talked, lying side-by-side on the bed, Fitz’s hand resting on Jemma’s stomach, both feeling their baby move until they’d all fallen asleep.

She’d woken up screaming during the night, her arms trying to find a way through the wall of sand the storm had built in front of her, blocking her path to the portal. She’d been disoriented, nauseous, her heart beating frantically, until she’d felt Fitz’s arms around her shoulders, pulling her into the safety of his embrace. She’d cried into his shoulder as he’d whispered words of comfort into her ear. Slowly, the spinning in her head and the ringing in her ears had subsided; her breathing once again becoming slow and regular as she’d inhaled Fitz’s familiar scent, listening to his heartbeat where her ear was resting on his torso. Eventually, the steady rhythm of his heart, mixed with the rising and falling of his chest had lulled Jemma back to sleep.

He’d reluctantly gone to the lab the next morning because Bobbi had asked for his help. Jemma had stayed in the isolation room for about an hour after he’d left until she became too restless. She’d ventured out, first paying Will a brief visit, before stopping by the lab. Fitz was happy to see her, presenting her with a new phone. He’d uploaded her contacts from the backup of her desktop computer, apologizing for not yet having been able to retrieve the data from the phone she’d had with her on the desert planet.

At first, Jemma had been happy to be back at the lab, to see her old workspace, but the sounds and sensations as well as the constant stream of people trying to welcome her back had overwhelmed her eventually, so she’d excused herself to go back to her room. Fitz had offered to accompany her, but she’d reassured him that she’d be okay by herself, encouraging him to finish work and come see her later.

* * *

“Agent Simmons!”

Jemma stops abruptly, staring wide-eyed at Nathanson, who’s walking down the hallway straight at her with fast, energetic steps.

“I couldn’t quite believe it when I heard it, but will ya look at this, it’s true!” The overly enthusiastic agent comes to a screeching halt right in front of her, gesturing at her pregnant belly.

Jemma attempts a polite smile while watching in slight panic, frozen and unsure of what to do as Nathanson’s hand reaches forward to touch her stomach.

“That hand moves forward as much as an eighth of an inch and I’ll break it, Nathanson!”

Almost reflexively, Jemma’s lips pull into a wide smile at the sound of May’s stern voice.

May steps up from behind, stopping next to Jemma and crossing her arms in front of her chest, staring at Nathanson until the agent awkwardly and visibly-scared excuses himself.

Jemma watches quite contently as Nathanson rounds the corner he’d been coming from, seemingly so startled by May’s sudden appearance that he’d forgotten his actual destination. Slowly, Jemma turns to look at May, unable to hide a smile. “According to my intel, you went on vacation with your ex-husband six months ago and never returned.”

One corner of May’s mouth ticks up ever so slightly. “Not every day you hear about a woman being swallowed by a rock and spit out six months later thirty weeks pregnant. Had to see it with my own eyes.”

“It’s good to see you, Agent May.” Jemma pulls May into a hug, noticing too late how her colleague’s muscles tense at the unexpected gesture. She’s relieved when she feels May relax and deepen the hug a moment later.

“Do you need an escort?” May suggests, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

Jemma nods. “I just might.”

* * *

* * *

May had walked Jemma back to her isolation room, staying with her and swapping stories until Coulson had shown up around lunch time.

* * *

Coulson waits until the sliding doors close behind May, before walking up to the table and putting the tray down, lifting the plastic plate cover to reveal a bowl of soup.

“I wanted to make you my famous grilled-cheese sandwich, but melted cheese was on the non-approved items list that Doctor Davis gave us. So I opted for my mom’s famous chicken-noodle soup recipe instead.”

Coulson pulls out the chair, encouraging Jemma to sit down, who can’t help but smile at the sweet gesture.

“It smells delicious, Sir.”

Coulson tilts his head to the side. “Figured it’s one step above that vegetable broth Hunter made yesterday.”

“Hunter made that?” Jemma asks, surprised.

“There was no stopping him.” Coulson sits down opposite Jemma, watching her try the first spoonful of his soup.

“Mmmmm,” Jemma hums, closing her eyes. “It’s delightful, Sir.”

She looks at him, smiling shyly. “I remember the first time you cooked for me when I was undercover at Hydra: steak with fingerling potatoes and kale.” She pauses, her lips pulling into a wide grin. “And a nice cold beer.”

Coulson scoffs briefly. “I promise I’ll make that and the grilled-cheese sandwich once your stomach can handle it! But you’ll have to skip the beer!”

Jemma chuckles. “Of course. Thank you, Sir.”

She wrinkles her forehead, straightening up slightly. “You will have to invite Will as well. Steak and beer is practically all he ever talked about when it came to what he misses most with regard to food.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Coulson pauses, allowing Jemma to take another spoonful of soup before speaking up again. “I’ve been in touch with Doctor Garner. He’ll be here tomorrow. I think your and Mister Daniels’ mental health is just as important as your physical health.”

Jemma nods, but can’t quite bring her smile to look genuine. “Yes. That’s probably wise.”

“And speaking of physical health—” Coulson gestures with both hands in Jemma’s direction. “Congratulations! You and Fitz certainly never stop surprising me.”

Jemma chuckles shyly. “Thank you, Sir. And I think we surprised ourselves quite a bit there, too.”

“What did your parents say?”

Jemma draws in a deep but shaky breath. “Ummm.”

“You haven’t told them yet?”

Jemma shakes her head. “Not yet. Fitz and I talked about it this morning. He was going to call his mum, and I was going to call my parents, but I—” She clears her throat. “I’m just… I don’t know how to even go about it.”

“Picking up the phone and dialing their number is probably a good start.”

Jemma lets out a quiet laugh. “Rip off the bandage?”

Coulson nods. “You just survived six months on an alien planet. You really think telling your parents they’ll be grandparents could be worse?”

Jemma tips her head from side to side. “Well, they’re already grandparents. My brother has twin girls.”

Coulson raises his eyebrows, a hint of a teasing smile playing on his lips.

Jemma rolls her eyes, shaking her head ever so slightly. “You’re right. I should just call them.”

Coulson shrugs. “I could make it an order if it helps.”

Jemma smiles, gratefully. “I think that won’t be necessary. But thank you for the offer, Sir.”

* * *

* * *

Jemma stares at the phone in her hands, the familiar digits on the screen. Her thumb hovers over the call button, trembling slightly. Her mouth feels dry and part of her is worried that she won’t be able to speak at all, that the words will get stuck at the back of her throat.

She closes her eyes, exhaling sharply, forcing her thumb to touch the screen before opening her eyes again, watching as the call is being placed.

Her hand shakes when she brings the phone up to her ear, listening as the ringing continues.

_“Hello?”_

Jemma gasps when she hears her father’s voice.

“Dad.” It’s barely more than a whisper and Jemma’s afraid that maybe her father couldn’t hear her when silence echoes back from the other end of the line. Nervously, she clears her throat.

_“Jemma?”_

A shaky, relieved chuckle escapes Jemma’s lips. “Dad. Hi. Yes. Yes, it’s me. Umm.”

_“Jemma, are you okay? We’ve been worried sick. We haven’t heard—”_

“Yes, Dad. I know,” Jemma interrupts him. “Is… is mum there too, because there’s a lot I have to tell you and I… well, maybe we could videochat? I… I haven’t seen you in so long.”

_“Umm. Yes. Yes, of course, honey. It’ll just be a minute to set everything up.”_

“Of course. I… I’ll just wait until you come online.”

_“Yes. Just a second.”_

Jemma hangs up, putting the phone down on the table next to her laptop. She presses the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, trying to push back the tears that are threatening to break the surface, before letting out a sigh of relief. Her eyes wander to her stomach and her hands reach for her pregnant bump, caressing it gently. “Time to tell them about you, little monkey. You think your mummy can do that?”

She chuckles when she feels the baby kick. “You’re right. Of course I can do that.”

Jemma looks up when she hears the incoming call on her laptop screen. She watches the cursor’s stuttering path towards the button to initiate the video chat as her trembling index finger moves over the trackpad.

Tears shoot to her eyes when she sees her mother and father, huddled side by side so the camera can catch both of them, their eyes full of worry.

“Hi Mum. Hi Dad.” Jemma sniffs, wiping away the tears that have started streaming down her face.

“Jemma. Oh my god. Are you alright?” her mother exclaims, her voice laced with concern. “We haven’t heard anything from you in months. We’ve been worried sick. We tried calling Fitz, but he wouldn’t answer his phone either and Aileen said he’s barely been in touch with her in the past few months. What’s going on? Are you alright?”

“Umm. Yes, Mum. I’m alright.” Jemma chuckles weakly, well aware that it is only a half-truth. “Well. I… I’m better. I mean… Ugh. There… There’s so much I have to tell you.”

“Jemma, what’s going on?” her dad asks, calmly.

Jemma rubs her forehead. “Oh, where to begin.” She inhales deeply, before exhaling a shaky breath. “I… I was gone for the past six months.”

“Gone? What do you—?” her father tries to interject.

“I was missing. Kidnapped, you could say, I suppose. I… I can’t really give you more details than that. I’m sorry.” Jemma slumps her shoulders, apologetically.

“But you’re alright?” her mum asks. “Did they treat you well? Those who—?”

“Well. There wasn’t really… I mean… It’s difficult to… I did alright, Mum, all things considered.” Jemma tries to smile to reassure her concerned parents. “There wasn’t much food, but… but enough to survive and I… I wasn’t alone. There was another—” She pauses, trying to come up with an adequate way of describing what Will and she had been. Eventually, she lands on, “—hostage. His name is Will Daniels, an American, and we… we stuck together, helped each other out, and eventually found a way back home.”

“God, Jemma. I… I don’t even know what to… your work has been so—”

“I know, Dad. I know,” Jemma interrupts her father, knowing full well what he’s trying to say. “But I’m back and I’m physically well, all things considered, and Director Coulson is making sure that mine and Will’s mental health are taken care of and… and… and—”

Jemma inhales deeply, feeling her heart rate rise and her head spin slightly with nervousness. “And this isn’t even the main reason why I wanted to talk to you.”

“It isn’t?” her father exclaims, surprised. “What on earth could possibly be more—”

“Well. You see, before this happened,” Jemma interrupts him, afraid she’ll lose courage if she doesn’t speak fast enough. “Fitz and I, we realized… well, he realized it much sooner than I did, but… well, we… we realized that… that our feelings for each went beyond what could be described purely as friendship and—”

“Oh, finally!” her mother bursts out, her eyes lighting up with joy. She turns slightly in her seat, slapping her husband on his shoulder. “They finally figured it out, James! Oh, I’ll have to call Aileen later.” She turns her head back at the camera. “Does she know?”

Jemma’s mouth opens and closes a few times without so much as an audible breath coming out, until she finds her speech again, stuttering in surprise. “Well. No. I mean, I don’t know if Fitz… I mean.” She stops, slumping her shoulders. “So you knew before we did, huh?”

Her mother tilts her head slightly, looking at Jemma a bit sheepishly. “Well. We just always thought that you two—”

“We’re very happy for you and Fitz, okay?” her father adds. “Although I will admit that I don’t think you two dating is as big news as you having been missing for six months, Jemma. I mean—”

“Thank you, Dad. And Mum. And, well, maybe us developing a romantic relationship isn’t news for you, but… well, it’s… it’s not… that wasn’t actually—”

“Jemma?” Her father’s eyebrows are almost disappearing behind his hairline.

Jemma smiles shyly, her heart now beating so loud it seems to drown out her own voice. “Well, while I was gone, I realized that… that… thatI’mpregnantwithFitz’sbaby.” She can’t stop the words from tumbling out fast and merged into one and simply hopes that her parents are nonetheless able to make sense of that monstrous hybrid word she’s created.

Jemma stares at the screen, her parent’s frozen faces looking back at her in complete silence.

“Could you… could you blink or wave or say something so I know if the connection is still—”

Jemma stops when she sees her mum and dad slowly turning their heads to look at each other.

Jemma sighs in relief. “Oh good, the video is still working.”

She stares at the screen, while her parents stare silently at each other.

“Mum? Dad?” Jemma asks, quietly and filled with nervousness, when the silence becomes too much to bear. She reaches for her stomach as if Little Monkey could offer her mental support.

Slowly, her parents’ heads turn back to face the camera.

“You’re pregnant?” her mum asks and a wave of relief rushes through Jemma’s body when she sees the corners of her parents’ mouths tick upward in unison.

“Yes.” A smile flashes across Jemma’s face and she nods. “Thirty weeks.”

“Thirty weeks?” her mother exclaims, her eyes doubling in size.

“Yes.” Jemma quickly stands up, turning slightly so her parents can see her profile, letting her hands glide over her shirt to show the contour of her stomach better.

Her mother gasps. “Oh my—”

Jemma sits back down, shrugging slightly and grinning sheepishly. “Surprise?”

“Oh. James.” Her mother’s head spins back to her husband, while she grabs his forearm, before turning back to look at Jemma. “Oh, Jemma. This is… Oh my—”

“I know.” Jemma can’t help but laugh. “And I know this is very unexpected and believe me it was just as unexpected for me and for Fitz, but—”

“Is the baby alright?” her mum asks, anxiously. “I mean with your captivity and the lack of food?”

Jemma lets out a shaky breath, but doesn’t lose her smile. “Yes. Yes, the obstetrician was here yesterday and ran every test she could think of and even though the baby is small, the doctor couldn’t detect any visible defects and the blood and amnio results are promising as well.”

Her mother grimaces, covering her mouth with her hand as she noticeably becomes overwhelmed with emotions, her eyes welling up. “Oh, Jemma.”

Jemma sniffs, feeling tears in her own eyes as well, while her lips are still pulled into a smile. “It… it’s a girl.”

“A girl?” Her mother gasps, once again reaching for her husband’s arm for support. “Oh, Clara and Rose will be so excited to be getting a little cousin!”

“Oh.” Jemma’s eyes widen in surprise. “Yes, I suppose they would, wouldn’t they?”

“Do you want to call Liam yourself or would you like us to do it?” her dad asks. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty to think about.”

“Oh.” Jemma wrinkles her forehead, waving him off. “No. No, I… I will call him myself. I think that should come from me.”

Her dad smiles warmly, nodding in understanding. “Alright, love.”

“Is Fitz there, too?” her mum pipes up. “Can we congratulate him?”

Jemma shakes her head, apologetically. “No. He… he’s at the lab, working.”

“Oh, what a pity.” Her mother tilts her head to one side, pursing her lips in disappointment, before straightening back up with yet another smile plastered to her face. “Well, promise you’ll call us together soon, alright?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Oh, Jemma,” her mother sighs. “I was so worried, and now it’s like all my worries have vanished into thin air. This is such a wonderful surprise. You take good care of yourself, yes? And the baby!”

Jemma scrunches her nose, sniffling slightly while bopping her head. “Yes, Mum, of course. I… I’m in very good hands.”

Her mother’s head perks up again. “Does Aileen know already? Oh, I can’t wait to talk to her!”

“Oh.” Jemma furrows her brows. “I… I’m not sure if Fitz has had a chance to call her yet to be honest. I mean… I mean, he just found out yesterday.”

Her mother smiles. “Well, promise me you’ll let me know, so I know when it’s safe to call her. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise for her.”

Jemma nods. “I will, Mum. I’ll let you know.”

“Alright, so, anything else you want to tell us?” her dad chimes in, his eyes sparkling teasingly.

Jemma chuckles briefly. “I think that shall be enough from me. How about you? What have you been up to? I… I’ve missed you so much.”

* * *

* * *

Jemma looks up from the book she’d been reading in bed when the sliding doors open a few hours later.

She smiles when she sees Fitz. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he replies, smiling shyly. “Sorry, I haven’t been here all day. Good news is that I restored your phone’s data. I can upload everything to your new phone tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Oh. How wonderful. That was quick.” Jemma pauses, noticing her heart beat a bit faster. “Did you… did you look at—”

Fitz clears his throat, still standing in the doorway, holding a large tray with both hands. “Umm. Yes. I… I wanted to make sure the files weren’t corrupted. I… I hope that was okay.”

Jemma nods. “Yes, of course. They… they were mainly for you anyways.”

“Yeah. I… I noticed,” Fitz replies, the corners of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly.

He takes a step forward, lifting the large tray a bit higher for demonstration purposes, before walking over to the table. “I come bearing dinner. I know it’s only five, but—”

“Oh,” Jemma exclaims quietly, before getting out of bed, grunting slightly over the fact that her growing stomach makes the simple task more difficult. “Let me guess: more soup?”

“Yes.” Fitz sighs, before putting on a reassuring smile and lifting the two plate covers. “But also some scrambled eggs and toast.”

Jemma can’t help but chuckle quietly. She sits down, grabbing one of the bowls with soup and one of the plates with eggs and bread. “I feel so decadent.”

Fitz smiles, opening one of the bottles of water on the tray and handing it to Jemma, before taking the remaining bowl, plate, and bottle for himself. “Nothing but the best for you.”

Jemma takes a bite of the scrambled eggs, enjoying the slightly salty and peppery taste. She gestures at her plate with her fork. “Oh, this is delicious!”

Fitz’s eyes briefly dart up, before he pokes his fork into his own plate of eggs, grinning slightly. “Thank you.”

“Mmmm,” Jemma hums as she takes another bite. “I forgot how good your scrambled eggs are.”

She grabs a slice of bread, allowing her fingers to feel the crispy and slightly crumbly texture of the toasted surface. “I talked to my parents earlier,” she tells him, quietly. “And Liam.”

Fitz looks up. “Oh. What did they… How did they react?”

Jemma can’t help but chuckle. “They were surprised, obviously. But… but also very excited.”

Jemma’s gaze drops to her plate, before looking back up again. “Liam congratulates you on your super-swimmers. His words, not mine.”

Fitz laughs out loud. “Well. Be sure to thank him from me… I guess.”

Jemma joins in the laughter. “Abby said she’ll put together some of the girls’ old clothes and send them to me.”

“Oh.” Fitz raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. “That’s nice. How… how did Clara and Rose react?”

Jemma chuckles, tilting her head to the side, remembering her two nieces’ reaction. “There was squealing and jumping and then they ran to their rooms and according to Abby they were rummaging through their toys trying to choose which ones the baby could have.”

“Awww. That’s sweet.”

“Yes. I thought so, too.” Jemma takes a sip of water, before continuing to speak. “My parents are hoping we’ll call them again soon. The both of us. They want to congratulate you as well.”

Fitz swallows the bite of toast he’d been chewing.

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He nods enthusiastically, gesturing at Jemma with the slice of bread he’s still holding. “My… my mum was asking for the same.”

A smile flashes across Jemma’s face. “Oh. You called her? I should let my mum know. She can’t wait to talk to yours.”

Fitz chuckles briefly. “Yeah. I… I called her over lunch.”

“How did she take it?”

“There was a long silence, followed by screaming. A lot of excited screaming. My ears are still ringing.”

Jemma can’t help but laugh. “Awww. That’s sweet.”

“I just hope she didn’t give me permanent ear damage,” Fitz jokes, before adding more quietly, “She’s so happy.”

He pauses, pulling out his phone, and starting to text, pausing briefly to look up at Jemma. “I… I’m just gonna let her know that your parents know. I think she’ll explode if she can’t talk to anyone soon. Who knows, she may have already taken out a full-page ad in The Herald or something,” he adds jokingly as he finishes up his text.

“It’s a relief, isn’t it? That they know?” Jemma remarks, quietly, unable to hide a smile.

“Yeah.” Fitz beams at her happily, placing his phone on the table and picking up his spoon instead.

He barely manages to swallow his soup when his phone begins to vibrate excessively. He furrows his brows, looking briefly at Jemma, before picking up his phone and unlocking the screen.

He laughs out loud, then turns the screen so that Jemma can see it, scrolling through about fifteen photographs taken of pages of magazines showing various knitted baby outfits.

Jemma can’t help but laugh herself, while at the same time noticing her eyes fill with happy tears, touched by Aileen’s enthusiasm. “Awww. Little monkey will be one stylish baby.”

“Yeah.” Fitz nods, setting the phone back on the table and continuing to eat.

It’s only about two minutes later when his phone vibrates again.

“Oh good,” Fitz remarks dryly, reading his mum’s message on the screen. “She says she’s video chatting with your mum now and they’re coordinating who’ll knit what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. They really make me want to continue writing and finish new chapters as quickly as possible so you don't have to wait so long for updates. Thanks for your patience!


	13. Chapter 13

Jemma had been back for three days now. Slowly, her body was re-adjusting to being back on Earth. Slowly, the noises and the brightness of the artificial lights throughout the base were becoming less overwhelming. Nonetheless, she still spent most of her time in her isolation room, giving her body and mind a rest. She’d spoken with Doctor Garner in the morning and, all things considered, she’d felt like her therapy session had gone well. She’d stopped by the lab to see Fitz after Doctor Garner had left, visited Will over lunch, then headed back to her room.

* * *

She sits on the bed, her back supported by various pillows, her tablet in hand, her eyes wandering from line to line, topic to topic, reading about giving birth, nursing, swaddling, changing nappies, baby’s first bath, teething. Sometimes, it seems a bit daunting, wanting to catch up on everything with only a few weeks of her pregnancy left, but then, through all her life, Jemma had been nothing if not determined to be prepared for just about anything. Unfortunately, the fatigue that had plagued her during the first trimester (and which she’d assumed was merely a byproduct of exhaustion, dehydration, and malnutrition) had started to return with a vengeance, now that she was in her third. Maybe it was also that her body had finally been given a chance to take a deserved break after months of continuous stress for survival. She notices how the words on her tablet become more blurry, how her eyes blink more frequently, remaining closed for just a split-second longer each time.

She’s a bit startled when the sound of the sliding doors opening catches her attention. She looks over and, as if by reflex, a smile appears on her face.

“Skye!” Jemma pauses, her eyes catching sight of the vase of flowers her friend is carrying. She slumps her shoulders in disappointment over her own forgetfulness. “Daisy. Sorry.”

Daisy grins shyly, lifting the flowers in her hands a bit higher as she walks to the bed. “It’s a multipurpose gift. It’s pretty and a reminder.” Daisy puts the vase on the nightstand next to Jemma. “You can call me whatever you want. Coulson still slips up.”

Jemma’s eyes linger on the flowers a moment longer, before wandering to Daisy. “I like Daisy. It suits you.”

The smile on Daisy’s lips grows a little wider. “Thanks. I can’t stay for too long. It’s… there’s just a lot going on, but Lincoln’s been keeping me updated on you.”

Jemma presses her lips into a thin line, nodding in understanding. “Yeah, he mentioned that you’ve been very busy with the unexpected influx of Inhumans. The Terrigen is spreading?”

Daisy scoffs quietly. “So’s the paranoia. But we’ve got it covered. I think you should be focusing on other things.” She lifts her chin in the direction of Jemma’s stomach.

A single laugh escapes Jemma’s lips. “Believe me, it’s hard to focus on anything else when your stomach is the size of a watermelon _and_ housing a small human who’s kicking you and pushing on your bladder.” She shifts slightly, pushing the palm of her hand against the small of her aching back, grimacing in pain.

One corner of Daisy’s mouth pulls up and she squints worriedly. “You feeling okay, all-in-all?”

“Yes.” Jemma smiles in all honesty, nodding reassuringly. “This morning, I adjusted all atmosphere settings in the room back to normal Earth levels and if Lincoln okays it, I think I’ll go back to my own bunk tomorrow.”

“What, completely white and sterile walls and fake landscapes on a projector not your thing?”

Jemma chuckles, shrugging nonchalantly. “Why stay here when I have a perfectly fine, windowless room with brick-walls to return to?”

Daisy laughs out loud.

Once the laughing subsides, Jemma’s expression becomes more serious again. “Although, Fitz and I’ve started to look into apartments off base for after the baby is born.”

Daisy scoffs in pretend protest. “Gee. Snobs! What’s wrong about bringing up a baby surrounded by army boots and heavy weaponry?”

Jemma chuckles quietly, before scooting over just a bit, patting the now empty space on the mattress. Daisy accepts the offer, plopping her bum down on the bed while simultaneously pulling out a little rectangular gift-wrapped present that she’d apparently tucked into the waistband of her trousers.

She holds the present in front of Jemma. “Got that little shrimp something too.”

Jemma’s head tilts to one side. “Aww. You didn’t have to, Daisy.”

“It’s not exactly a diamond-laced bib, Simmons. Just open it.”

Jemma takes the gift, rolling her eyes slightly over Daisy’s unnecessary comment while she unwraps it.

“Oh,” she remarks, her fingers gliding over the red board book cover, the drawing of Earth, surrounded by stars, birds and a single, stylized human figure in orange in its center. “On the day you were born,” Jemma reads quietly.

Daisy gestures towards the book with her thumb. “It has a shitload of positive reviews and it’s supposedly a bit sciency. I mean, sciency for us regular mortal humans, but I thought maybe you and Fitz would nonetheless like it.”

“Oh, Daisy.” Jemma skims over the pages. “It’s lovely. Thank you so much.” She leans to the side, giving Daisy a hug, made slightly awkward by the angle and her protruding belly. “I can’t wait to read it to her.”

Daisy’s eyes widen. “She? It’s a girl? Damnit, Simmons, why am I not being informed about these things? I mean, I’m still pissed at you for not telling me about you and Fitz in the first place.”

Jemma gasps in surprise and mild irritation. “Well, I only realized my feelings for him while you were imprisoned by your mother and, well, then he and I… well, it happened the night you came back from the aircraft carrier and I didn’t see you at all between then and when the monolith took me and—”

Daisy raises her hands in surrender. “Alright, fair point, Simmons. Plus, I was joking, FYI.”

Jemma smiles apologetically, whispering a quiet “I’m sorry.”

“I’m very happy though, for you two,” Daisy admits, one corner of her mouth pulling into a warm smile.

“Thank you.” Jemma inhales slowly, her own lips pulled ear to ear. “Fitz seems really excited. He’s been falling asleep with his nose in a pregnancy book every night.”

Daisy raises her eyebrows. “He’s been sleeping here?”

Jemma nods. “Yes. I… There’s been so much that we wanted to talk about. Needed to talk about, really… and I asked him if he wouldn’t mind.”

Daisy lets out a single laugh. “Mind? I’m surprised he hasn’t physically fused himself to you.”

Jemma chuckles briefly, but suddenly it’s like a switch has been flipped. She draws in a shaky breath, turning her head in the hopes that Daisy won’t notice the tears that have suddenly appeared.

“You okay, Jemma?”

Jemma lets out a weak laugh. Of course Daisy would have noticed. She sniffles, quickly wiping away the hint of tears, before looking back at Daisy. “Yes. Yes. Of course.” She clears her throat, shrugging slightly. “I mean. It… it’s just a bit daunting, I suppose.”

Daisy scoffs, furrowing her eyebrows. “Umm. You’re gonna be pushing a human being out of your vagina through a hole that seems majorly unsuitable for the purpose… size-comparison-wise and all that. Fuck yeah, that’s daunting.”

Jemma can’t help but laugh, before pressing her lips together and shaking her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

Jemma sighs. “I just… Fitz and I.”

“I thought you two were good.”

“We are,” Jemma replies without hesitation. “It’s been… it’s been wonderful and he’s been so supportive and we _are_ good. It’s just—” Jemma pauses, trying to organize her thoughts. “Everything happened so fast. I mean, it took us so long to figure out our feelings for each other—me more than him—and then, we… well, we finally allowed our feelings to take the lead that one night. And then I… the monolith… and… well, then _this_ happened.” She gestures at her stomach, before lifting her shoulders to her ears. “And I come back and now we’re here and together and… and it just seems like… it seems so fast because we were robbed of the middle; we were robbed of the opportunity to talk about our feelings and figure things out and develop our relationship slowly. It’s like we went from being friends to being—”

“Married with children?”

Jemma bops her head in agreement. “Yes, basically. In a matter of moments. And… I… I’m just scared that being rushed into it all… I mean, what if… what if we regret that later and then—” She pauses, her hands moving to her stomach, protectively cradling her bump. “—then there’s this little monkey and she deserves… and I can’t imagine losing… I… Ugh. I can’t even formulate coherent sentences anymore.”

“Okay.” Daisy shifts so she can sit cross-legged across from Jemma instead of right next to her. “Hold your horses, Simmons. I… I get it, okay. I get that you’re scared and that it’s all happening at once and fast and all that. I get that. But—” She pauses, wrinkling her forehead, thoughtfully for a moment. “Okay, let me ask you something: do you love this little monkey? And P.S. that nickname is cute as fuck!”

Jemma chuckles. “Of course I do.”

“And do you think you’re gonna love her no matter what?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Daisy shrugs. “Do you think Fitz loves her?”

“Yes,” Jemma replies, noticing her eyes welling up. “He’s been talking to her and reading and—”

“He’s gonna love her no matter what?” Daisy interjects, her voice calm and quiet.

Jemma sniffles, nodding ever so slightly. “No matter what.”

Daisy purses her lips, one corner ticking up into a little smile. “Alright. So, that means that you don’t have to worry about her.” She tilts her head from side to side, revising her previous statement. “I mean, okay, yes, you’re of course gonna worry about her, because you’re you and you’re gonna be amazing parents, but I mean, you don’t have to worry about whether how your relationship with Fitz develops will affect her, ‘cause she will be loved no matter what, Jemma. By you. By Fitz. By your parents and your brother and his kids and by a whole army of honorary aunts, uncles, a kickass, Asian honorary grandma and a lovable honorary grandpa with an arsenal of dumb dad jokes up his sleeves, and don’t tell Coulson or May I said that or I may not live to see this baby being born.”

Jemma can’t help but laugh out loud. “I suppose there will be plenty of people who will be quite fond of her.”

Daisy scoffs. “Understatement of the century, but hells yes. Now. Another question for you.”

“Alright.”

“Before you fell in love with Fitz, you know, in the way that created _this_.” Daisy gestures at Jemma’s stomach. “Would you say you loved him?”

Jemma squints her eyes at the absurdity of the question. “Of course I did. He was my best friend, still is of course—no offense—”

“None taken.”

“—and aside from my family, nobody knows me as well as he does and—Yes of course, I loved him.”

Daisy nods in acknowledgement of her reply. “Okay. And do you think there will ever be a time or reason for you _not_ to love Fitz in one way or another?”

“No,” Jemma replies without hesitation.

“Do you think Fitz loved you before he fell in love with you?”

Jemma takes a moment, her mind flooded with memories of meeting Fitz, their first experiments together, their first projects, the Academy, Sci-Ops. A smile flashes across her face as she looks back at Daisy. “Yes, I think so.”

“Do you think he’ll ever _not_ love you in one way, shape, or form?”

“Probably not.”

Daisy’s eyes double in size as she leans slightly forward. “Then, stop worrying, Simmons! You and Fitz will always love each other, will always be friends, will always be there for each other. You and Fitz will always love this little monkey and take care of her, no matter what. No matter what happens between you and Fitz romantically, no matter how your romantic relationship develops, you will _never_ lose each other and your baby will _never_ have to choose between the two of you, ‘cause you’ll do this together no matter what.”

Jemma notices her chin quiver, her eyes welling up once again. She bites her lip to stop from crying, nodding ever so slightly.

Daisy reaches forward, grabbing Jemma’s hand where it is resting on her thigh and squeezing it gently. “I know this is maybe not the easiest thing to do, Jemma, but I think you should try to treat this as two unrelated things. Right now you’re busy becoming parents and that’ll require a hell of a lot of teamwork and you’re fucking good at that. Focus on that.” She shrugs, smiling encouragingly. “I’m not saying don’t explore your romantic feelings for each other. Hell, you _so_ deserve to explore the fuck out of that… and to fuck some more in general, although that’s maybe currently not on your mind—”

“Daisy!” Jemma can’t help but laugh out loud, while feeling her cheeks burn up.

“What I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t ignore your love life, but maybe don’t put so much pressure on its success, especially not right now. Maybe put it a bit on the backburner until you’ve got a chance to figure out this whole we’re-having-a-baby thing. Wait until this little monkey is here, become parents, and then, I’ll gladly offer my exceptional babysitting services so you and Fitz can go on a real first date, and a second, and a third and… well, you get my point.”

“Keep things separate?” Jemma ponders Daisy’s suggestion.

Daisy shrugs, pursing her lips at the same time. “Just to a certain degree. I think my very much air-tight argument has shown that you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

Jemma smiles, nodding ever so slightly. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Heck yeah. I am.”

“Thank you, Daisy,” Jemma whispers quietly.

“Sure thing. And remember.” Daisy gestures at herself with both thumbs. “Me. Exceptional babysitter services!”

Jemma chuckles, before putting on a particularly serious expression. “Do you have any references?”

* * *

She puts her book down on the nightstand and takes a deep breath, before turning slightly to look at him. “Fitz?”

“Hmm,” he mumbles quietly, his eyes still feverishly wandering across the words on the page he’s reading.

Jemma draws in another deep breath. “I… Daisy came by this afternoon and we talked for a bit.”

Fitz looks at her, putting his tablet down next to him on the bed. A hint of a smile is playing on his lips. “Oh yeah? I’m glad she found the time. She’d been meaning to come, but she’s been in and out of the base and barely had a moment to—”

“Yes. I know,” Jemma interrupts him.

Fitz eyes her thoughtfully for a moment. “Everything alright?”

Jemma wrinkles her forehead, nodding ever so slightly. “Yes. She… she brought me these flowers.” She leans back to give Fitz a better view.

He raises his eyebrows, leaning forward to look. An amused puff of air escapes his nostrils. “Subtle reminder.”

Jemma chuckles briefly. “Oh! And a book for the little monkey.” She opens the drawer to her nightstand and pulls out Daisy’s present.

Fitz takes it, reading the title aloud, before turning it front to back.

“It’s quite lovely,” Jemma remarks.

Fitz smiles at her warmly, lifting the book a little higher. “Did you want me to read it to her now?”

“What?” Jemma asks, slightly confused.

“You… you interrupted my reading so I… I just assumed there was something you wanted or needed or—”

“Oh.” Jemma rubs her forehead. “Well. I think we might save this one until she’s actually born, but… well, there… there is something I wanted to… well, like I said, Daisy and I talked and I… I mentioned something I’ve been worrying about a bit and—”

“Worrying?” Fitz shifts, trying to reposition himself to look at Jemma more directly, his eyes wide and filled with concern. “What is—?”

Jemma lifts her hands reassuringly, trying to stop Fitz from overreacting. “It’s… well, okay, I… I really don’t mean to worry you, Fitz, but… but could you… could I ask you some things and you simply answer honestly without asking any questions yourself until I’m done?”

“Alright,” Fitz agrees, unable to hide the hesitation in his voice.

Jemma inhales slowly before releasing a shaky breath through her rounded lips. “Do you love this baby?”

Fitz stares at her wide-eyed. “Yes, of course, Jemma, I—Why would you—?”

Jemma looks at him, pleadingly, and he immediately stops, remembering the promise he’d made.

“Do you think that no matter what happens between us, you’ll always love her and be there for her?” Jemma continues, repeating the questions Daisy had asked her earlier.

“Of course.”

There’s a tremor in his voice that breaks Jemma’s heart. She can see a million questions running through his mind, burning on his tongue. She can’t stop a weak smile from appearing on her lips, as she blinks away a few tears that are trying to break the surface.

“Before you—” Jemma pauses, clearing her throat to steady her voice. “Before you developed romantic and… and sexual feelings for me, do you think you loved me? As a friend? As a—?”

“Yes. Yes, Jemma, I—” He shrugs as if words aren’t enough to express everything he wished he could say.

Jemma smiles, raising her hand to stop him from continuing. “And if… if—somehow, for whatever reason—our romantic relationship shouldn’t work out the way we’d hoped for… do you think, you’d still—”

He grabs her hand, almost in panic, cradling it between his palms, squeezing it tightly. His eyes are rimmed with tears. “Jemma, I can’t imagine a day when I won’t love you romantically and… and sexually, but yes, even if that should happen, even if… even if _you_ should decide that that’s not what you feel for me, I… I will always love you, and I will always be there for you and for our baby and—” He pauses, his chest heaving with short, ragged breaths. “Can I ask a question now?”

Jemma smiles, shyly, nodding ever so slightly. “Yes.”

“What’s behind all these questions?”

A weak chuckle escapes her lips. “Well. I’ve been concerned that… well, before the monolith took me, we’d… we’d barely established the idea of wanting to explore these romantic feelings we have for each other and… and then I came back three days ago, heavily pregnant and… and my feelings for you havn’t changed, if anything they’ve intensified, and I think… well, it seems to me that your feelings for me haven’t changed either but—”

“Definitely not.”

Jemma lifts her shoulders almost apologetically. “But, it’s all happening so fast and you’ve barely had a chance to adapt to the idea of becoming a father in a few weeks and we’ve barely had a chance to process everything that has happened and I… I worried what being rushed into a serious relationship with a baby could mean for us and our relationship long-term and—”

“Jemma.” He tilts his head to one side, the corners of his mouth ticked up into a barely noticeable smile that Jemma can’t help but imitate reflexively.

“But Daisy made me realize—using the same questions I just asked you to be honest—she made me realize that most likely—and your replies have now confirmed it—that… well, that no matter what, we will both always love this baby and we will always love each other in one way or another.”

“Okay.” Fitz wrinkles his forehead in slight confusion. “I’d agree with that.”

Jemma sighs, preparing her concluding argument. “Daisy suggested that maybe we should try to keep our role as parents and friends separate from our role as partners in a romantic relationship.”

“Separate?” Fitz raises his eyebrows.

“Yes.” Jemma bops her head in confirmation. “Since there is no doubt in our minds that we will always be there for our baby and that we will always be friends to each other, she thinks that that could take some pressure off trying to make a romantic relationship work at all costs and at this very second, when there are so many other things going on.”

She shrugs. “I mean, she’s not suggesting that we don’t explore our romantic relationship at _all_ at this point and that’s certainly not something I would want either, but that maybe we should allow ourselves to take it slow. Maybe wait until the baby is born and we’ve become a bit more comfortable with our new role as parents, before we shift the focus a bit more towards just the two of us and our romantic feelings for each other.”

“Huh.” Fitz purses his lips, his eyes wandering thoughtfully from side to side.

“What… what do you think?”

“I—” He turns his head away for a moment, exhaling sharply, before looking back at Jemma. “Let me process this for a second, okay?”

Jemma smiles, trying to hide her anxiousness. “Of course.”

It feels like an agonizing, silent eternity, the only sound Jemma hears being her own thumping heart, until Fitz speaks again. In reality, it probably had been only seconds.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Jemma asks, unable to stop herself from smiling with hope.

Fitz nods, one corner of his mouth ticking up. “Yes. I think you’re right. We… we should take it a little slow and the stress of being new parents might actually make that easier.”

Jemma chuckles weakly. “Maybe.”

Fitz presses his lips together, squinting in thought. “Maybe we could… I mean, what if, instead of looking for two-bedroom apartments off base, we… we look for three-bedrooms?”

“Three bedrooms?”

“Yes. One for you. One for the baby. One for me.”

“Oh.” Jemma looks straight ahead, her hands absentmindedly stroking her baby bump, as she ponders Fitz’s suggestion.

“Think about it.” Intuitively, Jemma turns her head back to face him, when he speaks up. “It… it would allow us to share parenting duties equally and fairly, but instead of feeling like we’re going from friends to—”

“Married with children,” Jemma echoes Daisy’s words.

“—we both have our own rooms, our own space,” Fitz continues. “Which will allow us to develop our romantic relationship slowly, more traditionally if you will.”

Jemma raises her eyebrows, tilting her head thoughtfully to one side. “So, we’d be kind of like roommates?”

“Who take care of their baby together,” Fitz adds.

Jemma shrugs, pursing her lips. “I suppose we’ve been roommates before.”

Fitz points at her, grinning widely. “And that worked beautifully.”

Jemma squints her eyes teasingly.

“Hey,” Fitz exclaims in mild protest. “I’ve gotten a lot better with the cluttering over the years, thank you very much.”

Jemma can’t help but laugh, before sighing deeply, lifting her shoulders to her ears. “So, roommates who take care of their baby together and hopefully eventually get a chance to go on dates and… and see what—”

“Yeah.”

His blue eyes look at Jemma softly, conjuring a smile to her lips.

“Daisy offered to babysit,” Jemma admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

“She got references?”

Jemma chuckles, remembering that she’d made the same joke. “I think I like this idea.”

Fitz nods. “Yeah, me too. And if things work out, we’ll eventually have an extra bedroom for guests or as an office or—” He shrugs, and Jemma notices his eyes briefly darting to her stomach. “—Who knows?”

“Who knows,” Jemma repeats, her voice slightly raspy, while her hand gently strokes over her stomach.

She turns her head to glance at Fitz. “But if you don’t mind, maybe you could… maybe you could still stay with me until the baby is born and we’ve moved to this new three-bedroom apartment that we have yet to find?”

“Definitely,” he replies, barely above a whisper.

Jemma notices the happy sparkle in his piercing blue eyes, which seem to be wandering from hers to her lips and back again. Jemma feels her stomach flutter excitedly, when she sees him lean closer. His lips seem exceptionally tender, Fitz seemingly trying to take the promise to take things slow to heart. And yet, something about the way his lips only gently brush against hers, only the tips of their tongues briefly meeting in passing, seems to make the kiss even more sensual and intimate.

Reluctantly, Jemma breaks the kiss when the need for air becomes too great. She sighs happily, their faces still so close together that his features become blurry before Jemma’s eyes.

“Can I just state for the record—” she whispers, slightly out of breath, “—that our night together was… well, it was—”

A smile flashes across Fitz’s face. “Good?”

Jemma laughs quietly, her fingers reaching up to comb through his hair. “I sincerely hope that was an understatement or I might be insulted.”

Fitz chuckles, gazing straight into her eyes. “It was something, wasn’t it?”

Jemma sighs deeply. “Quite something, yes.” She clears her throat, straightening up ever so slightly, her twisted position becoming slightly uncomfortable due to her pregnant belly. “And I hope that we’ll get a chance to repeat that particular aspect of our romantic relationship quite frequently, once we’ve gotten a bit of a hang of this whole parenting thing.”

A quiet laugh escapes Fitz’s lips and he nods in agreement. “Definitely no objections to that idea.” He pauses, tilting his head to the side. “Except my mum says she still feels like she’s improvising this whole parenting thing. So, the getting the hang of it part might never happen. Ergo—”

Jemma laughs out loud. “Well, I say, if we manage to improvise half as good as she does, we’ll be just fine. And, I’m sure we’ll manage to have sex again long before Little Monkey moves out of the house.”

He joins in her laughter, before leaning closer to press his lips against hers once again.

“So,” he remarks, importantly, once he’s broken their kiss. “Now that we’ve established all this, can I bring up a different, yet somewhat related topic?”

Jemma raises her eyebrows in mild surprise. “Of course.”

“While I obviously love her current nickname, I assume we won’t _actually_ name her Little Monkey, so—” Fitz shrugs. “Do you think we should start talking about possible names?”

“Oh,” Jemma exclaims, trying to hide her deer-in-headlights look. “Yes. I… Actually, I—”

“You’ve already thought about it, haven’t you?” Fitz asks, one corner of his mouth ticked up into a grin. “Of course you have.”

“Well, I had a bit of spare time on my hands since we found out that it would be a girl and—”

“So, what are some of the names you like?” He looks at her wide-eyed and full of curiosity.

“Well… it… it’s really only _one_ name that I’ve… that I’d like—”

“Oh.” Fitz wrinkles his forehead and Jemma’s not entirely sure how to read his reaction, causing her to reach a mild state of panic. Words tumble out of her mouth far quicker than she’d hoped for.

“I mean, obviously, you should have a say in this and I’m not proposing that we have to call her… but, it’s a name that… and I thought, maybe you could choose her middle name… or of course, if you don’t like my idea at all then we don’t have to, but—”

“Jemma,” he interjects, a smile playing on his lips.

“Yes?”

Fitz chuckles quietly, reaching up to tuck Jemma’s hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you start by telling me the name?”

Jemma exhales in relief, smiling and slightly embarrassed. “I suppose that would be the most logical thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

“Yep.”

Jemma sighs, taking a deep breath, feeling her heart swell at the thought, before she opens her mouth to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta reader @dilkirani told me that the ending was "rude". I'm sorry. I'm mean like that. You'll have to wait for the baby's name a bit longer. MUHAHAHAHAHAHA.
> 
> Thanks so much for your continued support of this fic. The next chapter will probably be a longer one, so be patient. It might take me a little bit to write it ;)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very hard to write for various reasons, so I apologize that it took me a little bit longer than intended to update the fic.
> 
> Trigger warning: possible pregnancy-and-birth-related triggers [but all will be good, I promise]
> 
> Just keep in mind that a lot of you seem to have enjoyed the high degree of realism I've tried to maintain in this fic.

When Jemma had thought about returning to Earth while she’d been on the alien planet, she hadn’t exactly imagined that her first trip off base would be a doctor’s appointment followed by apartment hunting. That being said, she’d always imagined it would be her and Fitz, strolling down the street hand-in-hand, smiling, laughing, talking. And that much had remained true. They’d even had a wonderful lunch in a cozy café. Fitz had asked the waiter if he could bring their water in wine glasses, and while the young man had looked at them in slight confusion, he had happily complied. For all intents and purposes, it was a lovely, unofficial first mini-date.

The check-up with Mindy hadn’t been anything extraordinary, no big, surprising news, either good or (more importantly) bad. The baby was obviously still lagging behind in size, but Mindy didn’t detect anything unusual during the scan. Jemma’s blood results had shown that the various deficiencies her body had suffered from were slowly subsiding. All-in-all, Mindy had been quite satisfied with how things were progressing. She, nonetheless, still cautioned Jemma to take things easy.

It had been three days since then, three days since Jemma had entered her thirty-first week of pregnancy.

* * *

Jemma wanders down the corridor, somehow managing to smile politely at the other agents in passing even though her mind is elsewhere, her hand slowly gliding up and down her stomach.

It had been almost an hour. Almost an hour and four contractions. Mild ones. Probably Braxton Hicks. But, still. Four in less than an hour. They’d felt different somehow. Not intense. Not very painful. But different. That had been the part that had Jemma concerned.

She draws in a slow breath, taking a step to the side to avoid crashing into Agent Crawford, who’s leaving the common area just as Jemma wants to enter.

Absentmindedly, Jemma steps inside, heading straight for the kitchen, even though she’s not entirely sure why.

Hunter looks up when he notices her, picking up half of his sandwich and taking a big bite. “Want one, too, mummy-to-be?” he mumbles with a full mouth.

Jemma stops in front of the counter, grimacing slightly. “No. Thank you. I don’t seem to have much of an appetite today.”

Hunter squints in concern. “You alright, love?”

“I… I’m not sure. I—” Jemma’s hand reaches for her stomach when she feels her muscles tighten again. Slowly, she breathes through the mild pain. “I’ve had some contractions. They’re not terribly strong and I’m sure it’s a false alarm, but… but maybe I should—”

“Call your doctor?” Hunter finishes her sentence, putting his sandwich down on the plate, and taking one step closer to Jemma. “Yes. Yes, you should.”

Jemma wrinkles her forehead, nodding every so slightly. “Yes. I should, shouldn’t I?”

Jemma knows that Hunter is staring, waiting for her to do something, and yet, she doesn’t seem to be able to move, her eyes fixed on Hunter’s half-finished sandwich even though she has no reason to look at it.

“Okay, come here.” Gently, Hunter grabs her by the elbow and guides her over to the table, pulling out a chair and encouraging Jemma to sit.

Jemma hears a slight ringing in her ears, her brain strangely foggy and in a daze, while Hunter rushes to the fridge, returning moments later with a bottle of water.

Jemma takes the bottle, staring at it as if it were an unfamiliar tech device. She looks up, pleading silently with Hunter to help her.

Hunter exhales, rubbing Jemma’s arm a couple of times. He takes the bottle, opens it, and hands it back to Jemma, before pulling out a chair for himself.

The corners of Jemma’s lips tick up barely noticeably. “Thank you,” she whispers, before taking a sip of the water. The cool sensation down her throat seems to wash away some of her anxiety.

Hunter holds out a hand, palms-up, waving his fingers towards himself. “Give me your phone. I’ll call. You’re white as a sheet!”

Jemma sighs. “I’m just worried.”

Hunter scoffs, grinning at her one-sidedly. “Yeah. I got that. That’s why I’m offering to call.”

Jemma reaches for her back pocket and pulls out her phone. She hands it to Hunter, after unlocking it, smiling gratefully. “Mindy Davis. It’s her personal mobile.”

“Got it.” Hunter bops his head as confirmation.

He looks through her address book until he finds the right number. It only takes a moment until someone answers. “Yes. Hello. Doctor Davis? Hi. I… I’m Lance Hunter. S.H.I.E.L.D. I’ve got Jemma Simmons here. She says she’s had contractions. Thought it’d be better to check in.”

* * *

Mindy had suggested coming to the hospital right away. They’d put Jemma on a CTG, monitoring her contractions as well as the baby’s heart rate, which remained steady.

The contractions subsided once Jemma had been put on tocolytics and her membranes hadn’t ruptured. She didn’t show any signs of infection and the cervical exam didn’t reveal any effacement. In the end, Mindy had decided to send Jemma back to the base.

“Stay in bed,” Mindy had told her sternly. “I mean bed rest, okay? Take things real easy. Bed. Potty break. Back to bed. That’s pretty much it! The tocolytics will help. But we likely won’t gain more than a few days, a week tops, I’m afraid, but any day we gain will be good for Little Monkey.”

Jemma had been amazed by how calm Fitz had stayed throughout the whole exam. More so than her, to be honest. He’d held her hand, smiling at her reassuringly, talking to her quietly, while her heart had beat a mile a minute and she’d struggled to hold back tears. It had reminded her of how he’d been during the first ultrasound: there, simply there, simply everything she’d needed in that moment.

Not even two nights later, Jemma had woken up, her stomach muscles uncomfortably tight.

* * *

They quietly walk down the empty hallways of the base towards the hangar where the cars are parked. Fitz is shouldering the bag they’d packed for the hospital, one arm wrapped around Jemma’s waist and his free hand somehow managing to hold hers.

It’s not the pain that makes it hard for Jemma to walk. The contractions are still quite manageable. But the anxiety of knowing that their daughter would be born at not even thirty-two weeks, eight weeks early, seems to slow down her steps as if she were able to slow down time and give their Little Monkey just a bit more time to grow.

Fitz does his best to keep the confident appearance he’d shown over the past few days, but Jemma can feel his hands tremor nervously.

Jemma stops when she feels the onset of another contraction, gripping Fitz’s hand a bit tighter and inhaling slowly through her nose, before releasing the air through rounded lips.

They both look up in surprise when they hear footsteps coming down the hallway.

“Agent May,” Jemma mumbles, when she sees the older agent turn around the corner. Somehow, the sight of the other woman conjures a weak smile to Jemma’s lips.

May’s eyes wander back and forth between Fitz and Simmons. Her forehead is wrinkled ever so slightly, the only sign that she might be surprised. May raises her chin slightly.

“Do you want me to drive you?” she asks matter of factly.

There’s a brief moment of silence before Fitz speaks up. “No. We… we’re good. I can drive.”

May bops her head, one corner of her mouth twitching into the hint of a smile.

“Maybe you could let everyone know?” Jemma asks. “In the morning, I mean. Where we went?”

“Of course.”

“We should go, Jemma,” Fitz remarks quietly, the arm around her waist gently nudging Jemma a step forward.

Jemma smiles, as if by reflex, when she sees the warmth and concern in his blue eyes. She nods, before turning her head to look back at May. “And… and don’t forget to tell Will.”

There’s a friendly glimmer in May’s eyes as she blinks slowly in confirmation. “I won’t. And I’ll make sure no one shows up at the hospital unannounced. You two need some privacy.”

“Thank you, Agent May,” Jemma whispers quietly, before squeezing Fitz’s hand a bit more tightly to let him know that she’s ready to leave now.

“Yeah, thank you,” Fitz agrees.

A hint of a reassuring smile lingers on May’s lips as she steps to the side to let Jemma and Fitz pass. “Congratulations,” she says quietly. “Can’t wait to meet her.”

Jemma can’t help but smile shyly as she walks the rest of the way to the car, supported by Fitz’s now steady hands. Somehow, May’s familiar calm and stoic reaction to seeing them get ready to leave the base and head to the hospital had given both her and Fitz a bit of their strength and confidence back.

* * *

By the time they’d reached the hospital, Jemma’d been very much back to feeling anxious, almost panicked. Her arms had been protectively wrapped around her stomach, as if somehow that would allow her to hold the baby in a bit longer.

Mindy had already arrived. She had put Jemma on the CTG, did an initial exam of Jemma’s cervix, and consulted with the nurses and another doctor, before bringing her attention back to Jemma and Fitz.

“We’ve prepared for exactly this situation,” Mindy had told them, her hand reassuringly squeezing Jemma’s shoulder, while Jemma had anxiously stared at the CTG results. “We’ve given you steroids to help Little Monkey’s development. We’ve given you antibiotics to prevent group B strep in the baby. We managed to give your daughter a couple of extra days in the womb with the tocolytics. Maybe this isn’t ideal, but it is what it is and it’s what we’ll work with! I’ve delivered babies that were much earlier than your little girl. The scans we’ve done have been promising. The blood tests that we’ve done. The amnio. This little girl might be early, but she’s already shown us that she’s a fighter and she won’t stop now. She’s still head-down, so at this point there’s nothing in the way of having the vaginal birth you’d hoped for, Jemma. It’s just happening a few weeks earlier than expected. You can do this.”

Mindy’s eyes had wandered from Jemma to Fitz, who’d been holding on to Jemma’s hand tightly. “All three of you. And we’re here to help!”

Mindy’s pep talk, her voice laced with a calm authority, had been the last push Jemma and Fitz had needed to move from flight to fight, from fear to determination.

* * *

Jemma’s lying on her right side, her head tucked to her chest, her right hand holding on to her pulled-up knee of the same side. Her left hand is curled under her left knee, covered by Fitz’s hand, who’s helping her keep her left leg up while pulling it closer to her left shoulder, on which his right hand rests reassuringly.

Jemma’s eyes are closed as she growls another deep, guttural moan through gritted teeth. Her throat is hoarse from hours of trying to keep her voice low rather than high-pitched as the nurses and Mindy had continuously reminded her. She can feel the ring of fire as their daughter is crowning.

Jemma notices Amanda’s hand on her arm. The nurse’s gentle reassuring squeeze had become so familiar. “Keep going, Jemma. You’re almost there.”

It seems to happen from one second to the next. Suddenly the pain subsides and the pressure is gone. Jemma gasps, opening her eyes in relief, surprise, curiosity, and shock all at once. She exhales sharply, her mind a bit foggy and the noises her ears pick up strangely muffled.

“There she is.” Jemma hears Mindy’s voice like a faint echo. Instinctively, her eyes begin to wander, trying to find their daughter. It’s as if everything has slowed down and at the same time is speeding up.

Jemma catches a glimpse of Fitz, who’s staring at her, a smile on his face, before his eyes shoot back to the end of the bed. She can’t remember, when she’s let go of her knees, when she’d rolled onto her back, but suddenly Mindy is there, laying a tiny, deep-pink, almost red, moving little body onto her bare chest.

Jemma draws in a shuddering breath, her hands reflexively reaching for her daughter’s bum and head, covering it protectively and cradling it against her breasts, while Amanda places a light sheet over them as a blanket.

The little arms and legs keep moving, and the quiet, stuttering but urgent crying coming from her daughter’s pink body is enough to make Jemma cry as well. She’s flooded with emotions, relief, happiness, sadness, fear, and love. Love above everything else.

“She’s so tiny,” Jemma hears herself say, her voice rough and hoarse, almost unrecognizable. Her hand trembles when she grabs her daughter’s tiny hand. “She’s so tiny. So tiny.”

“Jemma.”

Jemma turns her head when she hears Mindy. “Yes?” she asks, weakly.

“Now, the baby can stay right where she is for now, but I’m gonna sneak in and do the apgar, okay?”

Jemma’s lips twitch nervously into the hint of a polite smile as she nods, loosening the grip on her baby girl to give Mindy better access, who immediately leans in to listen to the baby’s heart and lungs, calling the points for the individual categories over her shoulder to Amanda, who jots them down.

Jemma’s eyes wander to Fitz, trying to let her doctor work undisturbed. There’s a single tear snaking down his face, but he smiles at Jemma and their daughter widely. His hand reaches up, trying to stroke back Jemma’s sweaty hair that’s clinging to her forehead, while his other arm rests gently on Jemma’s as they cradle their baby girl together.

“She’s beautiful, Jemma,” Fitz whispers, unable to hide the tremor in his voice.

“She’s so tiny,” Jemma repeats, as if somehow those were the only words left.

“But look at her move. She’s a strong one,” Fitz reassures her and Jemma can’t help but smile.

“He’s right about that,” Mindy remarks, causing both of them to look at the OB. “She scored a solid two for muscle tone. Her overall score is six. That’s not great but it isn’t bad either, but we want to give her a really good check-up next, which means—” Mindy pauses, grabbing a pair of umbilical scissors from a tray next to the birthing bed, lifting it in the air. “—time to cut the umbilical cord. Fitz, you wanna do the honors?”

Fitz stares at the doctor wide-eyed, before his eyes shoot back at Jemma. “Umm. Jemma should do it.”

Jemma drops her head back. “Oh, Fitz.”

“No, really. You deserve it.”

Jemma can’t stop her lips from pulling into a teasing one-sided smile. “So you’re not disgusted by the procedure?”

“No!” Fitz exclaims in protest, before chuckling shyly. “Alright. Maybe that too, but… but you _do_ deserve it.”

Jemma feels her eyes soften and her smile becomes more genuine and grateful. Slowly, she turns her head to look back at Mindy, who’s grinning back at them.

“Well, then, Jemma. You do the honors.” Mindy hands Jemma the scissors and quickly applies the clamps to the cord.

“There you go, Little Monkey,” Jemma whispers quietly, a smile playing on her lips as she proudly cuts her daughter’s umbilical cord.

“Alright,” Mindy remarks, calmly. “Fitz, could you bring your daughter over to Doctor Porter, so he can give her a thorough check-up?” She gestures at the other doctor, who’s waiting next to a small bassinet-like examination table under an infant warmer.

“Me?” Fitz asks quietly, his eyes nervously darting to Jemma. “What if I—?”

“You won’t drop her,” Mindy interjects, smirking knowingly. “I’ve heard fathers worry about that so many times and not once has one dropped their baby.”

Fitz draws in a slow breath, and carefully picks up their daughter, tears immediately shooting to his eyes, as he lets out a shaky whimper. He looks up, his eyes rimmed with water. “Can I—? Is it okay, if I—?”

“Go ahead and kiss her,” Mindy replies calmly.

Jemma can’t help but beam when Fitz’s eyes catch hers briefly, before he lowers his lips to his daughter’s forehead, pressing them gently against the tiny infant’s skin. He brings his mouth close to her ear and whispers barely loud enough for Jemma to hear. “Welcome, Little Monkey.”

He straightens up, cradling their daughter in his arms, his lips pulled ear to ear, his head slowly turning in Doctor Porter’s direction.

“You can stay right with them, while they do the exam, Fitz,” Mindy tells him. “I’ll give Jemma a checkup in the meantime.”

Fitz turns back, looking full of hesitation and concern at Jemma. Jemma’s lips twitch nervously, caught between being anxious to see her daughter go, even if it is just to the other end of the room, and wanting to encourage Fitz to do what she knows is best for their baby. Somehow, she manages to force a little smile, nodding slightly, and it seems to be enough to prompt Fitz to head over to Doctor Porter.

As soon as Fitz’s back is turned towards her, Jemma feels her body shake with sobs, as more tears make their way to the surface, her trembling hand reaching out as if to reel Fitz and their baby girl back. She turns when she notices Mindy’s hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be able to hold her again soon, okay? I promise.”

Jemma nods weakly, reaching up to wipe the tears off her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “Yeah. Alright.”

She looks over to where Fitz is standing next to the infant warmer, when she hears Doctor Porter’s deep voice. “So, do we have a name yet?”

A smile flashes across Fitz’s face and he briefly turns his head, his eyes finding Jemma’s, asking her for confirmation. Jemma can’t help but smile herself as she nods encouragingly.

“Hope,” Fitz replies quietly. “Her name is Hope.”

Doctor Porter bops his head. “Well then, Hope, let’s check you out, shall we?”

Jemma watches Doctor Porter’s back as he leans over Hope with his stethoscope. Fitz stands next to him, trying to keep a polite distance without moving too far away from their daughter, his pinky finger extended, allowing Hope’s tiny fingers to grab it. Something about the scene causes a wave of warmth and love to rush through Jemma’s body. She smiles almost reflexively, before drawing in a surprised sharp breath when her lower abdomen begins to cramp.

The sound appears to be enough to make Fitz turn on his heels, rushing worriedly back to Jemma, almost stumbling over his feet but somehow managing to catch himself. Her grabs her hand, while his other arm flings protectively around her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Jemma mumbles, grimacing slightly, while her free hand rests on her lower abdomen. “I think it’s just—Oh!” She gasps, more in surprise than in pain.

“The afterbirth,” Mindy finishes Jemma’s sentence, heading to the end of the bed, to check on things just as Jemma’s uterus expels the placenta.

Fitz’s head spins around, avoiding looking at Jemma’s nether regions and instead focusing on the air above Jemma’s head, covering his mouth with the back of his hand while grimacing in disgust. “Oh god, cat liver flashbacks.”

Jemma can’t help but roll her eyes. “Ugh, Fitz. My placenta is presumably quite a bit larger than that stupid cat liver and anatomically doesn’t resemble it in any way, shape, or form, red and bloody appearance aside.”

“Red, bloody resemblance is resemblance enough, thank you very much,” Fitz remarks, wide-eyed.

“I thought you’d gotten better with this kind of—?”

Jemma stops herself when she hears Mindy try in vain to suppress a giggle.

“Amanda?” the doctor remarks, grinning sheepishly while holding the placenta in her hands and waiting for the nurse to come with a small bowl in which Mindy places the afterbirth.

Amanda takes the placenta away in the little dish to check it for completeness, while Mindy focuses back on Jemma and Fitz. “Okay, I’m gonna check Jemma while you two bicker. I noticed a bit of a tear when Hope was born.”

Mindy’s barely begun moving Jemma’s feet into a better position for the exam, when Doctor Porter’s voice makes her stop mid-move.

“Mindy?”

Mindy looks over her shoulder at her colleague. “Yes, Frank?”

Doctor Porter waves towards himself. “Could you come for a second? I’d like a second opinion.”

“Yes, sure. Just a moment,” Mindy replies, smiling politely while she pulls her gloves off her hands, giving Jemma’s knee a gentle squeeze before walking to the infant warmer. “I’ll be right back, Jemma.”

Jemma’s eyes nervously follow Mindy, her carefree bickering with Fitz already forgotten, as she tries to sit up straighter to get a better glimpse of the spot where her daughter is being examined by the two doctors. “Is… is everything okay?”

Jemma turns her head when Fitz gently pushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear that must have escaped her ponytail. “It’ll be fine, Jemma. Do you… do you want me to—?”

Jemma grips Fitz’s hand a bit tighter. “Stay here, please. I… It’ll be too crowded over there otherwise.”

Fitz nods, silently, squeezing his bum next to Jemma onto the mattress and wrapping his free arm around her shoulders. “Of course,” he whispers quietly, placing a kiss to Jemma’s head.

It’s probably not more than a few minutes until Mindy returns, while Doctor Porter picks up the in-house telephone on the wall, but to Jemma it feels like a small eternity.

“What’s going on?” Jemma hears Fitz ask, while her eyes remain fixed on the small infant warmer bed where Hope lies, wrapped in a light blanket, with Amanda keeping her company.

“Okay,” Mindy begins, and Jemma forces herself to look at her doctor at least part of the time, as her eyes keep wandering back and forth between Hope and Mindy. “So, she’s two and a half pounds and fifteen inches. But we always knew she’d be on the small side. Her apgar actually went up one point, so that’s good. But, Doctor Porter and I both heard a bit of a heart murmur.”

Jemma stares at Mindy wide-eyed, unable to speak. She feels her own heart beat faster while her stomach forms an uncomfortable tight knot.

“A heart—” Fitz mutters quietly and Jemma can hear the anxious tremor in his voice.

“Frank’s calling in one of our pediatric cardiologists,” Mindy continues, her tone remaining calm and matter-of-fact. “We’ll bring Hope down to the NICU. That’s where she’d have to go no matter what. And then the cardiologist will examine her some more.”

Jemma’s chin begins to quiver, as she lets out a shaky gasp, squinting her eyes shut and feeling the cool sensation of tears jumping from her eyelashes and snaking down her cheeks.

“Look at me, Jemma,” Mindy says, and somehow her doctor’s soft voice is enough to make Jemma comply. “The good news is that Hope wasn’t blue when she was born. Her heart is beating. She’s breathing with no assistance. She’s kicking up a storm. She’s crying. Those are all good signs. If it turns out she has a heart defect, without promising anything, my gut tells me, it’s not severe.”

Mindy looks at Fitz then back at Jemma, an encouraging smile playing on her lips.

Jemma can’t stop her lips from continuing to tremble. “She’s so tiny. And she… and I… I—”

“This is not your fault, Jemma.” Mindy reaches forward, giving Jemma’s leg a gentle squeeze. “Remember what I told you when we first met? You did everything you could possibly do for yourself and for her. Guilt won’t help you one bit. I know it’s not easy. But it’s the truth. You did everything you could and you did amazingly well all things considered. She is a fighter. No doubt about it.”

Jemma nods weakly, blinking away a few more tears, while leaning closer against Fitz, who’s pulled his arm a bit tighter around her shoulders.

Mindy smiles warmly at them both. “Okay. Fitz, you’re welcome to go down to NICU with Hope and Doctor Porter. Just know that if things get too crowded they might ask you to leave the room so they can finish the exam. But there are glass panels all around, so you’d still be able to see what’s going on, okay? I’ll stay here with Jemma, finish my exam, and as soon as you’re ready to go, Jemma, I’ll personally wheel you down to the NICU.”

Jemma turns her head slightly to look at Fitz, who looks back at her with tear-rimmed but seemingly confident eyes.

“Okay,” they say quietly but in unison.

Fitz gets up from the bed, leaning forward to kiss Jemma, who curls her hand around his neck, pressing her forehead against his for just a moment longer.

“She’ll be okay, Jemma,” Fitz whispers against Jemma’s lips. “Okay? She… she’ll be okay. I’ll stay with her.”

Jemma draws in a shuddering breath, trying to hold off a new wave of tears just long enough to allow Fitz to leave. “I love you,” she replies, barely above a whisper.

“Love you too.” Fitz gently presses his lips against hers one more time, before inhaling deeply, clearing his throat and walking over to where Doctor Porter is waiting for him. Fitz glances back at Jemma, one corner of his mouth ticking up briefly, before focusing back on his daughter’s doctor. “I’m ready.”

* * *

Daisy jumps up from her seat when she catches sight of Fitz walking down the long corridor next to some kind of special infant bed together with one doctor and a nurse. She’d been hanging out in the waiting area for a couple of hours at least, having gone through three bags of vending machine chips and two cups of hot, brown water, undeserving of the name ‘coffee’.

Fitz’s hand is resting on the plastic casing of the bed, his eyes fixed on the small moving body lying in it, his expression a strange mix of exhaustion, adrenaline overdose, and worry.

“Fitz!” Daisy exclaims, and her friend’s head shoots up.

“Daisy?” He stops, staring at her wide-eyed, while the doctor and nurse keep walking with the infant warmer, even though they slow down their steps.

“You have until the elevator comes,” the doctor remarks, gesturing towards the elevator doors with his head.

“Thanks,” Fitz replies quietly, before turning his focus to Daisy. He tucks his shirt into his trousers, before his hand curls around his neck, rubbing it nervously, seemingly lost for words.

Daisy shrugs apologetically, the words flowing out of her mouth faster than she’d intended. “May said not to come down here without your explicit consent, but I… I just couldn’t—”

She stops when Fitz’s arms wrap around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug.

“I’m on my way to NICU with Hope,” he whispers against her ear, and Daisy intensifies their embrace when she feels his entire body tremble with nervousness and his tears wetting her hair. “They… they suspect a heart defect.”

Fitz breaks their hug, holding on to Daisy’s shoulders instead and staring directly at her with pleading eyes. “Jemma’s still in the birthing room. It… it’s down the hallway… Could you—”

“Heart de—” Daisy mumbles in disbelief, before stopping herself. There would be time for questions later. Right now, it was clear that her friends needed her. “Yeah… yeah, of course, I… I’ll stay with her. You go!”

“Fitz!” The doctor calls from inside the elevator, holding the door open with one arm.

“Coming,” Fitz replies, before heading down to the lifts, his legs moving forward, while his torso is still facing Daisy. “Thanks, Daisy.”

A shy smile flashes across Daisy’s face. “Yeah, of course. And, Fitz: Congrats,” she manages to call after him before he disappears in the elevator cart.

* * *

For a moment, Daisy stands frozen in front of the birthing room door that the semi-friendly and only slightly suspicious nurse at the front desk had directed her to once Daisy had mentioned that her sister, Jemma Simmons, was expecting her. She’d been too afraid to be denied entry because she wasn’t technically family, so a little white lie seemed perfectly acceptable.

_Heart defect. Fitz had mentioned a possible heart defect. And the baby was more than eight weeks early._

Daisy had barely caught a glimpse of her, but she’d looked so incredibly tiny in the bassinet of the infant warmer. Daisy can’t imagine what must be running through Fitz’s and Jemma’s heads right now, how overwhelmed, happy, confused, shocked, worried, excited, completely and utterly freaked out they must feel.

Fitz had seemed surprisingly calm all things considered, but Daisy knows him well enough to see behind the brave façade he’d tried to build on the outside. And he probably had enough adrenaline rushing through him right now, his mind in problem-solving mode and just keeping things going that the reality of it all possibly hadn’t even hit him yet as he’d rushed with his infant daughter and her doctor to the NICU.

_But Jemma? Jemma’s now by herself._

Her loving boyfriend and newborn baby girl gone. After everything Jemma had been through in the past seven months, none of this seems particularly fair.

Daisy draws in a deep breath and knocks on the door, before opening it slowly, peeking inside. The smile she’d tried to bring to her lips disappears immediately when she sees Mindy Davis sitting on the edge of the bed next to Jemma, one arm draped around Jemma’s shoulders; Jemma’s head is leaning on Mindy’s shoulder, her body shaking with sobs.

But when she notices the unexpected visitor, Jemma looks up, sniffling, noticeably struggling to calm down her short, ragged breathing. The corners of her mouth twitch ever so slightly, as her eyes become wider.

“Daisy.” It’s somewhere between a question and a statement.

Daisy steps inside, closing the door behind her and walking to the other side of Jemma’s bed. It takes effort to smile when her best friend looks so vulnerable and heartbroken, her hair still sweaty and clinging to her face, her visibly tired body completely naked, a thin sheet her only blanket which is covered with streaks of blood, her expression one that longs to believe in a happy end and yet currently can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.

But somehow Daisy manages to pull the corners of her mouth up. It’s the least she can do, she tells herself. “Hey, Mama-Simmons. I basically defied direct orders from May, but I just couldn’t stay away.”

Jemma smiles back at her, a sad yet at the same time happy smile. “Daisy, I… she… they—”

Jemma’s voice sounds strangely unfamiliar; dark and hoarse as if someone had taken sandpaper to her vocal chords.

“Yeah, I know,” Daisy replies, knowing full well what Jemma is trying to say. She reaches forward, grabbing Jemma’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I ran into Fitz. It… It’s gonna be okay, yeah? Trust me.”

Her comment makes Jemma smile a bit wider, while at the same time bringing more tears to her eyes. “Oh, Daisy, you can’t know—”

Daisy exchanges a quick look with Mindy, before leaning a bit closer to Jemma, looking confidently into her friend’s sad, brown eyes. “Maybe I can’t know, but I… but I can _will_ it. Seriously, I can be pretty stubborn and… and that baby is going to be okay! Anyone who tries to come in the way of that has to go through me! Existent and nonexistent higher entities included!”

Daisy gestures at herself, bopping her head once for additional emphasis.

A weak but grateful smile flashes across Jemma’s face. “Thank you.”

Daisy slowly rubs back and forth on Jemma’s forearm. “So… Fitz was kinda in a rush, so I’m not a hundred percent sure if I heard correctly, but, her name is—”

“Hope.” Saying her daughter’s name conjures a smile to Jemma’s lips almost reflexively.

“That’s beautiful,” Daisy replies quietly, noticing her eyes well up.

“Alright,” Mindy declares, getting up from where she’s been sitting next to Jemma. “Let’s stitch you up and get you down to NICU.”

“Placenta was complete, by the way,” a female voice announces and Daisy turns in surprise when she notices the nurse in the room, who’s pushing a little medical cart with a suture set to the end of the bed.

“That’s Amanda,” Jemma explains, politely, and Daisy nods sheepishly in Amanda’s direction as a greeting.

Mindy pulls up a little rolling chair to the end of the bed and adjusts Jemma’s legs, before grabbing the sterile gloves from the cart and preparing the injection needle for the local anesthetic.

“Wowza!” Daisy exclaims when Mindy picks up the syringe. She turns to face Jemma, squeezing her friend’s shoulder firmly. “Dude, childbirth is seriously fucked up if you ask me. I mean, stitches down there. Yikes!” She takes a very quick peek to see if Mindy has started yet, when she notices Jemma’s nose scrunch up briefly in pain. “Just proves once again that Jemma Anne Simmons is one badass motherfucker. No wait, that didn’t sound quite right. One badass mother! There. That’s more accurate.”

Daisy’s relieved when her dumb joke makes Jemma genuinely laugh.

Although the joy is short-lived when Mindy pipes up from the end of the bed. “Working with sharp needles down here. You might wanna try and keep still. Just sayin’. Your vagina will thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope despite the pain and the angst, you still enjoyed this chapter. The good news is that this chapter was so hard to write that I occasionally drabbled in the next two chapters already, so those are already half-drafted. The next update shouldn't take quite so long ;)
> 
> And yes, fully expect a scene with Fitzsimmons and Mack regarding the baby's name (but not in the next chapter yet).
> 
> In case anyone is wondering, if I kept track of my timeline correctly and didn't mess up my math (which is a distinct possibility), Hope was born in the late morning on October 18, 2015 :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings: Mention of heart defect
> 
> P.S. This is *not* the chapter that [broke my beta readers](https://the-nerdy-stjarna.tumblr.com/post/162683767664/marvelthismarvelthat-the-nerdy-stjarna-help)

It had been four days since Hope’s birth and slowly Jemma and Fitz had settled into a routine at the hospital, the staff incredibly supportive and friendly. For the first two days, Jemma had been given her own room in the maternity ward to recover and Fitz had been allowed to stay with her as per the hospital’s policy. After that, Daisy had booked them a hotel not even five minutes from the hospital, not taking no for an answer when she’d insisted on paying for it. The room remained mainly unused though, since they had been allowed to spend as much time with Hope as they wanted, only being asked to leave during shift changes, when doctors and nurses needed privacy to share important information. Those were the times when they’d bonded with some of the other preemie parents in the NICU, ending up on both the receiving and giving end of reassuring words as parents huddled together in the waiting area until they were allowed back into their babies’ rooms. Only a couple of times had they reluctantly accepted Daisy’s offer to keep watch with wide-open eagle eyes (as she’d phrased it), so that they could catch a few hours of sleep in a real bed in their hotel room, although Jemma had to get up every two hours to pump and Fitz always took the opportunity to bug Daisy with an inquisitive text or five.

Their parents and Liam had obviously been surprised and a bit shocked to learn that their granddaughter and niece had been born eight weeks before the estimated due date. Jemma and Fitz had promised to keep them updated as frequently as possible and to let them know when might be a good time to book a flight to visit. In the meantime, Fitz kept everyone happy by texting photos of Hope at least three times a day, and every time, Clara and Rose sent a photo back with both of them holding up toys or drawings for their little cousin or making silly faces to cheer everyone up.

May had continued her strict regiment of restricting visitors as not to overwhelm the new parents and their infant daughter. Everyone except for Daisy seemed to adhere to her outlined schedule (and Jemma and Fitz had informed May that Daisy was to be awarded certain privileges as their daughter’s godmother). Coulson had been the first official visitor, handing them the perhaps largest congratulations card known to mankind, signed by everyone on base. May had snuck in later the same day, a purple knitted baby hat with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo in tow (making them promise never to tell anyone that she was a knitter).

Never in her life would Jemma have taken Hunter for a baby person, but he had gladly accepted their offer to hold Hope when he and Bobbi visited on Day 3, and then, teary-eyed, continued to mumble “She’s just… look at… will you just… she… I mean… she’s just… those tiny… I mean… can I just… you’re just—” until Bobbi teased him that kidnapping was a class A felony in the District of Columbia and he should maybe give the little baby back to her parents before they felt the need to call security. Yet, Bobbi had been unable to hide her adoration for Hunter’s adorableness.

By Day 4, Daisy had brought them so many cute and often nerdy outfits from preemie-sized to newborn to three-months-old that Hope would presumably outgrow her wardrobe before she could even wear all of them.

It had been a busy four days, their friends’ visits a welcome distraction from the stressful times of talking to doctors and venturing into their new roles as parents. At the same time, the hours they’d spent alone with their infant daughter had been just as precious, if not more so.

* * *

Jemma sits on the rocker-glider next to Hope’s incubator, her pinky finger resting in her daughter’s tiny hand. Hope had been asleep for maybe an hour, and Jemma hadn’t moved since, her misty eyes unable to stop staring in amazement at the little, strong baby girl, her lips unable to stop smiling, her chest rising and falling almost at the same rhythm as Hope’s.

Her daughter’s head is turned towards her and even though Jemma knows that at this age her Hope’s subtle smile is nothing but a reflex and not based on external stimuli, it still makes her heart swell.

“Hey.”

Jemma looks up in surprise when she hears the familiar yet unexpected voice and her smile grows a little wider when she sees Will standing by the open doors, a shy grin on his face.

“Hey!” she exclaims, excitedly but quietly, gesturing at him. “Off base!”

Will chuckles briefly and takes a hesitant step into the room, a small gift bag dangling in one hand. “Yes. I thought this was a pretty good reason to venture outside.” He lifts his head in Hope’s direction before looking briefly around the room. “Where’s Fitz?”

“Giving his mum and my parents an update.”

Will presses his lips into a thin line, nodding in understanding. “I see.”

“How are you feeling?” Jemma tilts her head to one side.

Will pushes his lower lip forward and raises his eyebrows, shrugging slightly. “Pretty good. I’m headed to Boston in a couple of days, actually, to visit my sister.”

“Really?” Jemma asks, both in excitement and surprise.

“Yeah. She… she’s got two kids. Boy and a girl.” Will takes another step closer to Hope’s incubator, eyeing it nervously from the side.

“Does she know?”

Will shakes his head. “Not yet. Coulson flew down there today. He promised me an update as soon as he had a chance to talk to her. I have no idea how she’ll—”

“I’m sure she’ll be excited once the… once she’s over the initial shock.” Jemma smiles encouragingly.

“Yeah.”

“And your mum?”

Will’s gaze drops to the floor, his expression notably more somber when he looks back up. “She died a few years ago.”

Jemma draws in a shocked, short gasp. “I’m so sorry, Will.”

He purses his lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. “It’s alright. I’d kinda made peace with not seeing any of them again.”

A brief chuckle escapes his lips, and a hint of a smile lingers on them as he continues. “Just the thought of seeing Leslie again… I feel like my heart’s gonna explode.”

The corners of Jemma’s mouth pull ear to ear at his confession. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” Will pauses, tucking his free hand into his back pocket. “So… How are _you_ holding up? Daisy told me that—”

A pained little smile flashes across Jemma’s face, while her eyes wander to Hope, her tiny hand still holding on to Jemma’s pinky.

“Well, it’s been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for sure,” she replies quietly, before forcing herself to look back at Will. “Being born early. And then the ToF.”

Will wrinkles his forehead. “Tuff?”

“ToF – T. O. F.” Jemma spells to begin her explanation. “Tetralogy of Fallout. It… it’s really a combination of four heart defects.”

“Four?” Will stares at her wide-eyed and visibly shocked.

Jemma nods ever so slightly, her head tilting to the side to catch a glimpse of Hope. “Yes. But… but it can vary greatly in severity and in Hope’s case it seems to be mild enough that they are quite confident they can wait to do surgery until she’s about four to six months. _And_ do a full repair right away rather than being forced to put a shunt in place first and—”

“How are you so calm?” Will interrupts her, and Jemma can’t help but chuckle quietly.

“It’s been four days. A lot of talking with doctors, getting informed, being right here with her, seeing how strong she is even though she’s so tiny, having Fitz by my side.”

Jemma pauses, scoffing briefly. “Believe me, there are still plenty of moments in the day where I break down crying, from exhaustion, worry, happiness, you name it. God, yesterday evening she latched onto my breast and actually nursed a tiny bit for the first time rather than just trying to suckle without making any headway and… and of course she didn’t drink much of anything, and it’ll probably still take a few days before we can try breastfeeding full-time and maybe a bottle here and there rather than giving her what I’ve pumped via the NG, but I… I cried so hard. It… it felt like such a milestone. It _was_ such a milestone.”

She sniffs, wiping away the water rimming her eyes and threatening to roll down her cheeks with the heel of her free hand. “Gosh, look at me getting all teary-eyed again over breastfeeding and pumping, which by the way truly makes you feel like some kind of milk cow, but—”

She sighs, a smile spreading across her lips as she looks at her sleeping baby girl. “It’s not always easy, but she’s been here four days and has never stopped amazing me. I keep telling myself that she’ll be okay and I’ll be okay and I actually believe that.”

Jemma lifts her head, gazing at Will. “You told me that she was my hope, my driving force to get us off that goddamn planet. Guess I realized that just because we’re back on Earth doesn’t mean she’ll stop being my hope.”

The corner of Will’s mouth ticks up into the hint of a warm smile, and his eyes sparkle with just a bit of humble pride. “Was wondering if her name had something to do with my little speech.”

Jemma chuckles. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Will scoffs, before turning his head to take a closer look at the sleeping baby in the incubator. “So. This is Hope.”

“Yes. Hope Danielle Fitzsimmons,” Jemma replies, her heart swelling with love and pride with each part of her daughter’s name she pronounces.

Will’s head shoots back in Jemma’s direction, his eyes wide and befuddled. “Wait. Danielle? Not… not because of—?” He awkwardly gestures at himself and Jemma can’t help but let out a quiet laugh.

“Yes. Because of you,” she confirms. “Fitz picked it. He… he said there are no good girl’s names that start with ‘Will’. Again, don’t let it go to your head!”

Will’s lip twitches briefly and Jemma notices a misty shimmer in his eyes, as he looks back at Hope.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

He straightens up, clearing is throat and holding out the little bag he’d been carrying, clearly trying to change the subject. “Hey, this is for Hope. Daisy got me the gift bag.”

“Oh?” Jemma’s face lights up. With just a hint of hesitation, she pulls her hand out of the hole in Hope’s incubator and accepts the present from Will with both hands. “Speaking of ‘you didn’t have to.’”

Jemma removes the tissue paper and hooks her pinky finger under the small metal hanger, carefully pulling the object of strings and wooden shapes out of the bag.

She holds it up, realizing that it’s a mobile. Almost by reflex, her lips pull into a smile, watching the shapes twist and turn on the thin see-through strings. Her eyes wander to the incubator where Hope is still sleeping peacefully, before gazing back at the mobile. “It’s beautiful, Will.”

Carefully, she inspects each of the wooden pieces. Some stars. Some planets. A sun. She notices her heart beat quicker, when her thumb glides over the surface and she recognizes the familiar texture of alien bamboo.

“Will,” she whispers as realization hits her and images appear in front of her eyes of an alien planet that somehow seems so far away and long ago even though it had been barely two weeks since they’d left.

Will tucks both hands into his pockets, his eyes wandering back and forth between the floor and Jemma. “That night when you told me about how you would go stargazing with your dad, I… I was whittling and I looked down and suddenly I realized that instead of my usual shiv or spear or whatever, I had whittled a star. That gave me the idea.” He shrugs, scoffing quietly. “Was a nice feeling. Making something to entertain a baby one day rather than a weapon. Bobbi brought me the right tools and strings and stuff to finish it up.”

Jemma looks up, her chin quivering and her eyes welling up with happiness and sadness all at once. “Will, I don’t know what—”

“Hey!” Fitz exclaims in a chipper tone as he walks up with energetic steps, slapping Will on his shoulder. He leans down to place a quick peck to Jemma’s lips, his eyes wandering in Hope’s direction, before he stands up straight, tugging his trousers up and looking happily at Will.

“Hey, Fitz. Congratulations,” Will says, smiling at them genuinely.

Fitz responds with a closed-mouth grin. “Thanks. Parents’ curiosity has been satisfied.” He waves his phone in the air before tucking it into his back pocket.

“Good,” Jemma replies, smiling at him gratefully.

“You okay?” Fitz asks, full of concern, when he notices the shimmer of tears in Jemma’s eyes.

Jemma nods. “Yes. Yes. Will… Will made this for Hope.” She holds up the mobile that’s still hooked to her little finger.

“You made this?” Fitz takes a double take from Will to the mobile and back, before reaching down to inspect one of the wooden shapes. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” Will replies, quietly.

Fitz straightens up, looking curiously at Jemma. “Did you ask him yet?”

“Me?” Will mutters, slightly confused.

“Not yet,” Jemma replies, her lips pulling into a wide smile.

“Ask me what?” Will asks, looking back and forth between Fitz and Jemma.

“Well—” Jemma begins. “We… we were wondering if… well, we’re not really religious people, but… but it seems like a nice tradition and so—” She looks up, encouraging Fitz to finish her sentence.

“We were wondering if you’d be Hope’s godfather.”

Will stares at them wide-eyed and surprised. “Godfa—?”

Jemma furrows her brows slightly. “Well, one of her godparents really. More like a guardian if you will. It… it would sort of be a shared duty, since, well, we also wanted Daisy as a godmother and… and I’d love for my brother to be involved as well and—”

Fitz gestures at Will. “But just because you’d be one of three doesn’t mean that… well, it would really mean a lot to us, ‘cause—”

Jemma shrugs, smiling shyly at Will. “—we feel like you’ve become part of our family.”

The corner of Will’s mouth ticks up, and he swallows, his misty eyes wandering from Fitz to Jemma to Hope before landing back on the baby girl’s parents.

“I’d be honored,” he replies, his voice unusually raspy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deciding on Hope's medical condition (Yes/No, what kind, how severe...) was a long, hard struggle. I never thought I'd read so much about heart defects in infants and first-hand accounts of people with ToF and parents of ToF children. I'm forever grateful to my medical advisor for talking things through with me (and accepting that at the end of the day, I just couldn't go more severe, because I've put them through so much already in this fic). I honestly couldn't be writing this fic without her.
> 
> As a heads-up: The next chapter will be the one I teased earlier in which we will get a scene with Fitzsimmons and Mack regarding the baby's name. If talk about child loss is a trigger for you, you can safely skip the next chapter without losing any of the main plot line. Do what's right for you! <3 [If it should make a difference for anyone: what we will hear about Mack's daughter won't really go beyond what was said about her in canon.]


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I personally love this chapter, this *is* the chapter that [broke my beta readers](https://the-nerdy-stjarna.tumblr.com/post/162683767664/marvelthismarvelthat-the-nerdy-stjarna-help) (although hopefully at least a little bit with a bit of a wink of the eye); 
> 
> It is a scene with Fitzsimmons and Mack regarding the baby's name. 
> 
> **If talk about child loss is a trigger for you, you can safely skip this chapter without losing any of the main plot line.** Do what's right for you!  <3 [If it should make a difference for anyone: The chapter won't go beyond what was said about Mack's daughter in canon.]

Fitz sits slightly reclined on the large rocker-glider next to Hope’s incubator in the NICU. The tiny baby is cradled against his naked chest, her legs pulled up like a frog, her little hands balled into fists, and her head turned sideways. Both of them are covered by a hospital gown draped over them like a blanket. Jemma sits somewhat awkwardly on the arm of the chair, her legs resting on Fitz’s lap. She carefully leans on Fitz’s shoulder while her free hand gently plays with the tiny bit of fluff growing on Hope’s head. Jemma can’t remember when she’d stopped smiling in the last half-hour since the nurses had once again helped them to take Hope out of the incubator for some kangaroo care snuggle time.

Jemma looks up when she hears someone shyly clear their throat, and her lips somehow manage to pull into an even wider smile.

“Mack!” she says quietly, as not to wake the little baby, and gets up from her chair.

Fitz looks up as well, but his eyes immediately wander back to Hope before he forces himself to look back at Mack, smiling invitingly at his friend.

The corners of Mack’s mouth tick up briefly as he takes a hesitant step inside. “Hey guys. Sorry it took me so long to come down here.”

Jemma stretches herself to pull Mack into a hug. “Long? She was born six days ago, Mack, and there’s been a steady stream of visitors with just enough time in between that it didn’t become overwhelming.”

Fitz nods, grinning widely. “Yeah. Have a feeling May had something to do with that schedule.”

Mack’s hand shoots to the back of his neck, rubbing it vigorously. He tilts his head down, seemingly trying to avoid looking at Jemma and Fitz. “Yeah. She’s set up a sign-up sheet. But… that’s not—”

He stops, his eyes briefly darting up before his gaze wanders back to the floor. There’s a sadness in his eyes when he looks back up that almost takes Jemma aback somehow.

“So, that’s her, I presume?” Mack takes a step closer, gesturing at the little infant sleeping on Fitz’s chest.

“Yes,” Jemma confirms proudly and squeezes back onto the armrest of the rocker-glider.

Fitz gently strokes his daughter’s head, before he looks back at Mack, the love for his baby still shining in his eyes. “Hope Danielle Fitzsimmons.”

Mack’s lips twitch for a split second and once again, Jemma notices a sudden gloominess flashing across his face. Then a smile appears on his lips, which seems to be torn between genuinely happy and just a little bit forced. He holds out his hand and Jemma can barely see the small rectangular, gift-wrapped box which almost disappears in his large palm. “I got something for her.”

Jemma smiles shyly, accepting his present and opening it after exchanging a silent look with Fitz, who seems equally puzzled by Mack’s apparent nervousness. She gasps when she opens the jewelry box and sees her daughter’s name in gold suspended between two delicate gold chains.

“I know she won’t be able to wear it for a while, but… but I wanted her to have it,” Mack says, almost apologetically.

Carefully, Jemma slides her fingers underneath the golden pendant to look at it more closely. “Oh, Mack. It’s beautiful.” She glances up, briefly looking at Fitz, whose eyes seem to be saying the same as hers. Jemma smiles back at Mack, shrugging slightly. “It’s… it’s too much, Mack. We… we can’t—”

“Yes. Yes, you can.” Mack nods, wetting his lips and inhaling deeply, his expression once again strangely somber. “I had it made for my daughter before she was born.”

Jemma can’t do anything but stare at Mack in shocked silence, while Fitz mutters a barely audible “What?”

“My daughter, Hope.” A hint of a shy smile flashes across Mack’s face, before he lifts his shoulders briefly. “She was born way early. Earlier than this little one. It was touch and go. She died when she was only four days old.”

Jemma feels her eyes welling up, her lids blinking rapidly. “Oh god,” she whispers quietly, unable to stop her chin from quivering.

“Mack, we—” Fitz remarks quietly.

“—we had no idea, Mack,” Jemma finishes, jumping back off the chair and taking a step towards Mack. Part of her wants to pull their friend into a hug, part of her hesitates. “I… I’m so sorry. We… we can change her name. We can just call her Danielle.”

Jemma’s head flings back and forth, looking from Mack to Fitz and back again.

Fitz nods in agreement, holding Hope even closer against his bare chest after hearing Mack’s story. “Yeah. Yeah, right… we—”

Mack squeezes Jemma’s shoulder, looking back and forth between her and Fitz. “Don’t you dare. It’s a good name. It’s a strong name. It suits her. And I’m honored that your daughter and mine share it.” His lips pull into a warm smile. “It’s been nine years. It’s sometimes still hard, especially when you two pull a stunt like this, but… I’m fine. And my Hope.” Mack chuckles, ticking his head to the side and clicking his tongue. “Man, she was a fighter. Maybe she’d been dealt a battle she couldn’t win, but she was a fighter. And your daughter is too! Daisy told me about the heart defect.”

Fitz’s eyes wander back to their sleeping daughter, his forehead wrinkling from a sudden onset of worry. He looks back at Mack, clearing his throat, yet still unable to hide the nervous tremor in his voice. “Yeah. It’s… it’s not… the severity is… they… they think they can wait until she’s four-five months or so, maybe even six, to do a full repair. That… that’s pretty good. Just one operation.”

“She’ll be fine,” Mack replies, his brown eyes looking at Fitzsimmons with comfort and confidence. “I know you two don’t believe in such things, but maybe God’s trying to make up for something.”

“Mack.” Jemma tilts her head to one side, unsure of how to respond.

Mack straightens up. “I should go. Congratulations, you two.”

“Thank you, Mack.” Jemma smiles shyly, sensing that maybe it’s not because Mack’s got a schedule to keep, but because his heart can only handle so much at a time. She reaches up one more time, to hug him goodbye.

When he breaks the hug, Mack waves his finger back and forth between Fitz and Jemma, his other arm still draped around Jemma, before pointing at Hope. “When she’s older, I’ll be so proud to see her running around with Hope’s necklace.”

Fitz swallows, clearly touched and still a bit shaken by everything Mack had told him. His eyes wander back to Hope and a smile flashes across his lips, before he looks back up. “Do you… do you want to hold her?”

Jemma can’t help but smile herself at the suggestion, looking up at Mack to await his reply.

One corner of Mack’s mouth twitches briefly before he presses his lips into a thin line. “I don’t think I’m quite there yet, Turbo. But thanks. Maybe next time?”

Jemma lets her hand wander up and down Mack’s arm, squeezing it gently. “You’re always welcome!”

“Yeah, I got that.” Mack leans down, places a quick kiss to Jemma’s cheek, and lifts his chin in Fitz’s direction as a farewell. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

Jemma watches him leave, her hand reaching up to wipe away the mist forming in her eyes, before turning back around to face Fitz, her smile torn between happiness and sorrow.

“We got lucky, didn’t we?” Fitz says quietly, his thumb gently caressing Hope’s head.

Jemma nods, slowly walking back to where he’s sitting and climbing back onto the armrest of the glider, resting her hand on top of Fitz’s where he’s keeping their daughter’s back warm and safe. She leans her head against Fitz’s shoulder, her eyes fixed on the amazing little warrior in front of them.

“In more ways than one,” she whispers quietly, before snuggling her head closer against Fitz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: I calculated that Fitzsimmons' Hope's birthday would be October 18 (2015). The date on the back of Mack's photograph of Hope in canon says "4/18/06". If that's a picture of Hope on her birthday (since she only lived 4 days), then Fitzsimmons' baby has her birthday on Mack's Hope's half-birthday. Somehow that fucks me up, 'cause it certainly wasn't planned. [But I couldn't find a good way to write it into the fic.]
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience. I hope those who dared read this chapter, enjoyed it despite the feels and sadness to it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who skipped the last chapter. The previous chapter took place at the hospital and was a scene between Fitzsimmons and Mack. Content wise, you didn't really miss anything of the major plot.
> 
> This chapter is rated T (maybe a very, very mild M??) for slight (the slightest) sexual content.
> 
> Disclaimer: It's basically fluff from here on out :)

Hope had been released November 20, 2015, at thirty-six weeks and three days, still premature so to speak. She’d exceeded everyone’s expectations. Well, the doctors’ and nurses’ maybe. Jemma and Fitz had never had any doubt about their daughter’s extraordinary capabilities. As Mindy had suspected, the ToF was mild, all things considered. Hope hadn’t shown signs of cyanosis and her condition had, therefore, been classified as ‘pink tetralogy.’ From a medical point of view, the doctors had been willing to release Hope sooner, but because the baby had been so tiny at birth, she’d been too small, or rather light, to fit a car seat. Thus, the last week and a half at the hospital, Hope had practically only been there to gain enough weight so that Fitz and Jemma could safely take her home to their new apartment, in compliance with any and all child restraint regulations and minimum weight ratings.

When they’d arrived home, it had been less than a week before Thanksgiving, and while Fitzsimmons didn’t feel like it was their holiday to celebrate, they felt like they had so much to be thankful for that they decided to invite the team to their new flat. Hunter had insisted on preparing the turkey, then spent the entire morning and early afternoon complaining in Fitzsimmons’ small kitchen that he really shouldn’t have offered as he was “Bloody British!” and something about “The Queen, for God’s sake!” Bobbi had rolled her eyes, while nonetheless politely offering to help. Jemma and Fitz sat on the couch, Hope cradled against Jemma’s chest, and both had tried their best to suppress their grins as they’d watched the other couple bicker back and forth in the kitchen while chopping vegetables and preparing a rather large turkey, which Jemma hoped would actually fit in their modest oven.

It seemed like a small miracle that they’d managed to fit everyone into their dining area, but by the time everyone had left again (after helping with clean up), Jemma and Fitz agreed that—despite their British heritage—this might just be a tradition they’d want to uphold from here on out.

Their parents and Liam with his family visited over Christmas, only ten days after Hope’s calculated due date. Even though they spent virtually every waking moment at Fitzsimmons’ apartment, everyone had insisted on staying at a hotel overnight so as not to overwhelm the young family. Aileen and Margret had indeed knitted up a storm, but had had the presence of mind to make clothes in varying sizes, as well as blankets, socks, thumbless mittens, little hats, and even a couple of stuffed animals. Clara and Rose had come with an entire suitcase filled with toys, clothes, and drawings they’d wanted to give to their little cousin. They’d been incredibly careful and gentle around Hope, bringing Jemma close to tears on more than one occasion. Aileen was planning to be back in mid-February, when Hope’s surgery was likely to be scheduled, and Jemma’s parents wanted to return around Easter.

Will had spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with his sister, but had promised them New Year’s, on which Fitzsimmons fell asleep just after 10 pm. Will had woken them just before midnight, carrying a squirmy and whiny Hope in his arms, saying that their daughter was either hungry or really eager to watch the ball drop at midnight. In the end, Hope had spent the countdown suckling on Jemma’s breast, while the three adults watched the ball drop and the fireworks go off on TV, toasting with a bubbly non-alcoholic drink that tasted rather disgusting. As soon as Hope had been done nursing, they had all headed to bed. Will had initially been hesitant to take Fitz’s bedroom and break their established routine, but Jemma and Fitz reassured him that sharing a room for a few days (and a bed for that matter) would certainly be no problem, seeing that they were working towards eventually truly living together as a couple anyways, despite their arrangement to take things slow for now. It wasn’t the most exciting of New Year’s Eves, but somehow all three of them knew that after everything they’d been through, it would remain one of the most memorable ones.

* * *

* * *

Fitz holds the door open and Jemma squeezes through under his arm, before shaking off some of the snow that had fallen onto her shoulders and stomping a few times on the doormat in the entrance area. She straightens up, smiling at Fitz, who extends his hand as the door falls back into its lock behind him.

“May I, Doctor Simmons?” he asks, his voice laced with a particular pleasant warmth.

Jemma can’t help but scrunch up her nose as she accepts his hand and allows him to walk her to the elevator. “You’re terribly old-fashioned today, Doctor Fitz, do you know that?”

“Well, it was our first real dinner date, ten months in the making, and I’ll have you know that I’m trying to be romantic rather than old-fashioned,” Fitz replies, as he presses the button to their floor.

Jemma hooks her arm around Fitz’s, pulling herself a little closer. “Well. Maybe it’s a bit of both. And to be quite frank, I really don’t mind.”

And she really hadn’t. It had been a wonderful, simple date. An early dinner in an Indian restaurant Fitz had scouted out, with excellent—and well-warranted—reviews. They’d left their apartment right after Jemma had nursed Hope, leaving Daisy with a fridge full of bottled breastmilk and a list of detailed instructions and tips on how to tend to their three-month-old. Daisy had rolled her eyes, mumbling something about how this wasn’t exactly her first babysitting rodeo, before shoo-shooing them out the door, barely allowing the parents to press a few more kisses to their daughter’s head.

Jemma glances at her watch as the elevator rides up to their floor. It’s not even 9:30 pm.

_A wonderful, simple, early dinner_.

She can’t help but feel like both her steps and Fitz’s slow down on the short little walk from the elevator to their apartment, as if both were trying to extend their date just a few moments longer.

It had been nice, just the two of them (despite the fact that they’d spent a big portion of the evening talking about Hope). The atmosphere at the small colorful restaurant had been lively without being overwhelming, the food delicious and the proprietors rather charming.

Jemma sighs as they come to a stop in front of their door. She turns to face Fitz, who grabs both of her hands, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, which Jemma can’t help but mimic.

She feels like a teenager returning from her first date, wondering if she’ll get a good-night kiss. It’s a rather ridiculous thought, considering that the man in front of her is her best friend and the father of her child and they’d confessed their love to each other on more than one occasion by now. But somehow Jemma can’t help it. It’s like she’s back at sixteen, back at meeting him for the first time, achingly shy, about to embark on a relationship that would change their lives, but they don’t know where it’ll go… Except she does know now, she knows that he’ll be in her life forever.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Fitz asks quietly, his thumbs gently caressing her knuckles.

Jemma sighs. “When we first met, I never thought this is where we’d end up, and yet—”

“And yet—” he repeats, and somehow they both know there’s no need to finish that thought.

They lean closer at the same time, their lips gently and slowly moving against each other. Jemma’s fingers comb through Fitz’s hair, while his arms—wrapped around her waist—pull her closer. A quiet moan escapes the back of Jemma’s throat when their tongues meet, and the butterflies in Jemma’s stomach flutter a bit more vigorously at the sensation.

They both sigh, smiling at each other in silence, when they come up for air. For a moment, they just stare at each other, bathing in each other’s eyes. His seem so incredibly blue tonight and they sparkle with a mix of happiness and mischief that makes Jemma’s heart beat faster as she loses herself in them.

That is until her ears pick up Hope’s quiet wailing on the other side of the door. They look at each other, both unable to suppress a quiet laugh.

Fitz wiggles his eyebrows, grinning knowingly. “Well then.”

Jemma lets out a somewhat disappointed sigh, before nodding ever so slightly. “Well then.”

Fitz opens the door and Jemma’s eyes wander around the empty living room, before landing on her bedroom door, through which Daisy exits at this very moment, cradling a crying Hope against her chest and bouncing gently up and down.

“This is so not how the evening has been!” Daisy exclaims, defensively, as she takes the last few steps into the living room to where Jemma and Fitz are standing. “We’ve been doing great together. She took her bottle about an hour ago. And she fell asleep and she just woke up two seconds ago.”

Jemma smiles, reaching out her hands to take Hope from Daisy and walking with her to the couch. “She’s probably hungry again. Maybe a growth spurt. I’ll nurse her and then I’ll see if I can pump some more. I feel quite engorged.”

Daisy unsuccessfully attempts to suppress a snort. “Honestly. When I first met you, I never ever thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth.”

Jemma rolls her eyes as she sits down on the couch, readjusting Hope’s position in her arms and unbuttoning her blouse. “Well, it’s all quite natural, Daisy.”

“Yeah. I’m aware of that, but—” Daisy, tries to interject but stops when Jemma unclips her nursing top. “Oh. Boob show!” she exclaims, excitedly, letting herself drop on the big armchair and crossing one leg over the other.

“Boob show? These are my daughter’s food source.” Fitz gestures wide-eyed in the direction of Jemma’s chest, his eyes sternely fixed on Daisy, who looks at him, grinning mischievously.

“And what a beautiful food source they are.”

Jemma hadn’t thought it would be possible, but Fitz’s eyes seem to double in size.

“You… wha—? Hey!” Fitz raises a scolding finger at Daisy.

“Fitz,” Jemma chuckles, unable to hide her amusement over Fitz’s reaction to Daisy’s obvious teasing.

“Alright, fine, yes they’re beautiful.” Fitz throws his hands in the air in defeat, his face turning a lovely shade of red. “They… they also have a baby sucking on them.”

Daisy crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Dude. It’s all quite natural!”

“Ugh. I give up.” Fitz drops his head back briefly, before walking to the couch and letting himself fall down next to Jemma, his fingers absentmindedly playing with Hope’s foot as she nurses.

Jemma turns her head slightly in his direction, batting her eyelashes rather suggestively. “I greatly appreciate you complimenting my bosoms.”

Fitz chuckles, one corner of his mouth ticked up and one eyebrow raised in slight skepticism. But he nonetheless accepts Jemma’s kiss when she leans closer.

“Aaaannnnd on that note, I’m gonna head out.” Daisy pushes herself out of her seat, causing both Jemma and Fitz to look up. “Good date?” Daisy adds.

Jemma smiles as if by reflex, exchanging a brief look with Fitz, before replying. “Quite wonderful. Thank you for babysitting.”

Daisy grabs her jacket from the hook next to the entrance door and lifts two fingers to her temple as a salute. “My pleasure. We hope you were satisfied with our service. Please, don’t hesitate to contact us again for any upcoming babysitting needs.”

Jemma and Fitz can’t help but chuckle.

“Bye, Daisy,” they say in unison.

“Bye, guys. Seriously though. Anytime! I love hanging out with that little shrimp!” Daisy lifts her chin in Hope’s direction.

Jemma’s eyes wander down to her nursing daughter, and she feels her expression soften.

“We do, too,” she replies quietly.

* * *

Jemma groans quietly when her tired mind registers her baby’s crying, waking her up and pulling her out of sleep and into the darkness of her bedroom. She wills her eyes open, turning her head towards the clock on her nightstand.

3:47 am.

She grunts as she stretches out her hand and in a somewhat uncoordinated manner manages to turn on her nightstand lamp, before pulling the covers back and swinging her legs out of bed. She sits up, inhaling a deep breath and rubbing her face vigorously to try and wake up some more, before pushing herself up to standing.

She drags her feet across the soft carpet to Hope’s crib. “Sshhhh, Little Monkey, mummy’s coming.”

Almost by reflex, a smile flashes across her face when she leans over the crib and reaches in to pick up her squirming and crying daughter. Carefully, she lifts Hope out of the crib and turns to head back to the bed, when her bedroom door opens.

Jemma rolls her eyes when she sees Fitz standing in the doorway with disheveled hair, in checkered boxers and a standard S.H.I.E.L.D. T-shirt, his eyes barely open, and one hand leaning against the doorframe for support.

Gently, she bounces Hope up and down to soothe her as she takes a few more steps towards her bed, her eyes fixed on Fitz. “Fitz, I can’t believe I’m still telling you this after three months but—”

He pushes himself off the door frame and takes a step into the room, gesturing at Jemma with one hand. “And I can’t believe I’m still telling you after three months—”

Jemma sits down on the edge of the mattress, scooting until she sits upright with her back against the head of the bed. “I am perfectly capable of getting Hope myself. You deserve some sleep.”

Fitz lifts his second arm, pointing at her with both palms extended. “You deserve some sleep, too, but unfortunately that’s not really an option. And I told you: you grew her in your uterus, you pushed her out of your… of your… well… you gave birth to her, and now you’re her sole source of food. The least I can do is change her nappies and get my sorry arse out of bed at night to bring her to you when she wants to nurse.”

He ends his speech by slumping his shoulders in defeat.

Jemma can’t help but feel her expression soften as her lips pull into an empathetic smile. “Fitz, you don’t—”

“I know I don’t have to, Jemma, but I want to,” he replies and there’s something about the warmth in his voice that makes Jemma’s heart melt.

“Fine,” she replies quietly, her eyes wandering to their daughter as she unclips her nursing top, allowing Hope to latch and begin suckling contently.

Fitz walks over to the bed, one corner of his mouth quirked up. Carefully, he crawls onto the mattress and sits down next to Jemma, before briefly reaching out to let his index finger glide over Hope’s arm. “Plus, it gives me some extra time with you two, which is kinda nice.”

Jemma turns to look at him, unable to keep from smiling. “That it is, I’ll admit it.”

She leans slightly forward and Fitz accepts her invitation, lifting his arm and wrapping it around her shoulders so she can lean against him while Hope nurses. She looks down at their daughter and wraps her hand around Hope’s tiny forearm and fingers, letting out a deep sigh of content and love. “Can you believe how much we struggled at first with breastfeeding and now she nurses like such a champ and I can barely get her off my breasts.”

Fitz’s thumb gently glides up and down Jemma’s arm, while his eyes are fixed on Hope, a small smile adorning his face. “Can’t blame her.”

“Fitz!” Jemma can’t help but chuckle, turning to look at Fitz, surprised by his admission.

He shrugs one-sidedly, his eyes darting back and forth, seemingly unsure whether to avoid or meet hers. “Well. I’m not… I mean, I didn’t mean to… I mean obviously it’s not—Ugh!”

He drops his head back, banging it lightly against the headboard. “Fine. I’ll admit it. I’ve only, well, experienced—” He pauses, his eyes wandering to Jemma’s half-exposed chest. “—them once first hand and apparently, sometimes I get boob-jealous of my own daughter.”

He looks up, staring straight ahead to the end of the bed, and pushing his back more firmly against the headboard. “There. I said it. And now excuse me while I try to disappear inside this wall.”

Jemma laughs out loud, craning her head to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Your turn will come,” she whispers close to his ear, noticing goosebumps appear where her breath tickles his skin. “Although obviously in a very, very different way.”

Fitz clears his throat and his hand shoots to his forehead, rubbing it vigorously. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. That… that goes without saying, I hope.”

Jemma sits back up straight, chuckling quietly. “It does.”

Her eyes wander back to Hope. Carefully, she squeezes her pinky between her daughter’s lips and somewhat reluctantly, Hope lets go of her nipple. Jemma pulls up the flap of her nursing tank and clips it back in, before turning Hope around and unclipping the other side of her top. Once Hope is again suckling contently, Jemma shifts into a more comfortable position, leaning her head back against Fitz’s shoulder, while her eyes remain fixed on their daughter.

Jemma sighs, her thumb gently gliding up and down Hope’s leg. “I can’t believe her surgery is in a month.”

Fitz pulls her a bit closer into his embrace, and Jemma savors the sensation of his lips gently pressing against her hair. “She’ll be fine,” he reassures her, quietly.

The corners of Jemma’s mouth tick up briefly and she exhales slowly in relief. “Of course she will. She… she’s exceeded every doctor’s expectations.”

The air from Fitz’s noiseless chuckle tickles Jemma’s scalp. “Well, she is your daughter after all.”

“And yours!” Jemma tilts her head, beaming at Fitz, before letting her eyes wander back to Hope. “Still. I can’t help but—”

Fitz lifts his free hand from where it had been resting on his thigh and gently strokes his daughter’s head with the back of his fingers. “I think there’d be something wrong with us if we weren’t petrified.”

Jemma laughs quietly. She shifts, cradling her nursing daughter with just one arm and letting her free hand glide down Fitz’s forearm until her fingers can intertwine with his hand, right next to Hope’s head.

“Thank you,” she whispers quietly.

“For what?”

“Being here.”

He squeezes her fingers a bit more tightly, his thumb trying to hook around hers, where she’s covering his hand. “Where else would I want to be?”

Jemma tilts her head, craning her neck until she can look more clearly into his eyes, which shimmer happily, illuminated by the light of her dim nightstand lamp.

Fitz leans slightly forward, and his lips feel incredibly soft and warm when they gently press against her own.

They smile at each other when they break their kiss and settle back into their comfy positions, watching in silence as Hope continues to nurse.

A smile flashes across Jemma’s face a few minutes later. “Well. Look at her. I think she’s done.”

Fitz shifts, pulling his arm out from behind Jemma’s back, and stretching both hands slightly forward. “Here. I’ll take her.”

“Fitz,” Jemma tries to protest, but when she notices his pleading puppy eyes, she can’t help but smile.

“Thank you,” she whispers and transfers a half-asleep Hope into his arms.

He gets up from the bed and carefully puts Hope down in her crib before turning to look at Jemma. “I’ll get you a glass of water and then I’ll head back to bed.”

“I can get my own—”

Once again, Jemma stops herself, when his wide eyes stare back at her in silence.

“Alright,” Jemma agrees with a sigh and a slight roll of her eyes.

Fitz grins and leaves the room, returning moments later with a full glass of water. He rests one knee on the bed and leans forward, placing a kiss to Jemma’s lips before handing her the glass.

“Thank you again,” Jemma remarks quietly, and his lips twitch into the hint of a smile.

Fitz walks to the hallway, but stops briefly, one hand holding on to the handle before intending to close the door. “Sleep tight. Of whatever little is left of the night.”

He pulls the door half-shut, before Jemma manages to call out his name and stop him.

The door opens a bit wider again, and Fitz’s head peeks back inside. “Yeah?”

“How about you spend whatever little is left of the night here?” Jemma suggests, smiling shyly.

The corners of his mouth tick up briefly and his eyes seem to light up with hope, before his expression becomes more serious again. “You sure?”

Jemma nods. “Most definitely.”

A smile flashes across Fitz’s face and quietly he walks back to her bed, pulling the covers back and lying down next to her. He props up his head on one hand, the other gliding up and down Jemma’s arm.

“I miss you. Both of you,” he admits quietly and the raspiness of his voice causes Jemma’s stomach to twinge.

Jemma sighs, her fingers reaching out to slowly trace his jawline. “It’s rather nice, isn’t it? Sleeping in the same bed.”

Fitz nods ever so slightly, one corner of his mouth ticked up, as his blue eyes seem to stare straight into Jemma’s soul. “Definitely. Staying together at the hotel while Hope was at the hospital and those few days when Will was here over New Year’s. It was—” He pauses, his mind seemingly wandering, but a smile still lingering on his lips.

“We’ve been taking things quite slow, don’t you think?” Absentmindedly, Jemma’s thumb glides over his lower lip, before her palm moves down his neck and to his shoulder.

Fitz sighs, pressing his mouth into a thin line. “Yes, we have.”

Jemma purses her lips, while her eyes wander to where her fingers are playing with the sleeve of his T-shirt. “It was a lovely date tonight.”

Fitz lets out a contented hum. “Very lovely.”

Jemma scoffs briefly in amusement, tilting her head back to look directly at him. “Although we really spent most of it talking about Hope.”

Fitz chuckles quietly, his hand still gliding up and down her arm. “Still very lovely.”

Jemma stares into his eyes for a moment, the calm and serene blue.

“Fitz,” she exhales, barely above a whisper.

“Mmmm?”

Jemma can’t hold back the smile that appears on her lips together with her question. “Would you like to move in with me?”

A little puff of air escapes Fitz’s nose. “We’re kind of already living together.”

“Ugh.” Jemma rolls her eyes, gently slapping Fitz’s shoulder. “You know exactly what I meant!”

Fitz lets out a quiet laugh, before his expression becomes more serious. “You sure? What about taking it slow?”

Jemma pulls the shoulder she’s not lying on up into a shrug. “We’ve known each other inside and out for ten years. Ten years is a long time. Slow, one might argue.”

“Jemma.” His voice is quiet and somber, the sound of her name filled with so many questions and emotions.

Jemma cups his cheek, trying to somehow stop the anxious thoughts rushing into his mind. “I love you, Fitz. I love you, and I’ve never been more certain of my romantic feelings for a person… and sexual might I add, and we’ve taken things slow. We’ve been careful in exploring our relationship and our feelings for each other, and I have no doubt in my mind that this is what I want and that this will work out and that we are forever, as cheesy as that may sound. Do you have doubts?”

Immediately, Fitz shakes his head. “Not one bit. Never had. Never will.”

Jemma can feel her smile ear to ear as she presses her palm a bit more firmly against Fitz’s stubble. “Then what do you say?”

Fitz lets out a quiet laugh. “Hell yes.”

Jemma joins his laughter, leaning forward to press her lips against his. His arm glides from her shoulder to her waist and he pulls her closer as their kiss deepens. Jemma feels a rush of excitement flowing from her lips through her entire body. A quiet moan escapes the back of her throat when Fitz gently pushes her onto her back and rolls on top of her, while her fingers play with the short hair at the back of his neck.

Jemma wraps one leg around Fitz’s hip, but it slides right off when Fitz suddenly stops, pushing himself up on his elbows instead.

“I’m sorry… I… this is probably not… I mean you’re not on birth control because you’re breastfeeding and we don’t even—”

“Actually,” Jemma mutters breathlessly, her hands still curled around his neck. “Daisy gave me a box of condoms when she got here today. They’re in the top drawer.” She ticks her head in the direction of her nightstand.

Fitz raises his eyebrows. “Bloody hell, that one.”

Jemma shrugs, chuckling quietly. “Just looking out for us really.”

Fitz exhales a shaky breath, his eyes darting back and forth between the nightstand and Jemma. “But, I mean… with… with Hope in the room. Is that… is that okay?” He turns his head quickly to look in the direction of Hope’s crib.

Jemma places her palm back against his cheek, slowly bringing his attention back to herself. “I believe there’s nothing wrong with being intimate while a baby is sleeping in the same room, especially one that is as little as Hope and has no clue as to what’s going on and who’s currently in a bit of a milk-induced coma and… I think it’s a personal decision and we certainly don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable with the idea but, as for myself—”

She doesn’t get further than that when Fitz’s lips crash rather forcefully against hers. Jemma savors the feeling of their sensual kiss as her hands slowly glide down Fitz’s shirt until they disappear below the hem. Fitz pushes himself up onto his knees, straddling her legs between his and pulls the shirt over his head, disposing of it somewhere on the floor.

There’s a nervous shimmer in his eyes when his fingers touch the soft skin of Jemma’s stomach, carefully pushing her tank up. He pauses for a moment, tracing some of her stretch marks, before smiling up at her, his expression full of love and admiration. “You’re bloody beautiful, you know that?”

Jemma chuckles, shifting slightly to sit up herself and pull her tank over her head. She reaches forward, curling her hands around Fitz’s neck and pulling him into a kiss as she lies back down on the mattress.

His fingers comb through her hair as he removes his mouth from her lips and begins kissing down her jawline, her neck, and slowly lower.

Jemma closes her eyes, enjoying the slight tickle on her skin which sends a wave of heat down to her very core.

She groans quietly when the kissing suddenly stops and is replaced with cold air.

Jemma opens her eyes, looking straight into Fitz’s, whose gaze at her is once again filled with nervousness.

He clears his throat, gesturing at her breasts. “I… Is it okay to—? I mean I want to, but… I… I won’t like take away her food or—”

Jemma’s hand flies to her mouth, trying not to laugh too hard, since his concern is nothing short of adorable and admirable. She takes a deep breath, allowing her hand to slide off her lips and up his naked chest instead, until her palm once again cups his cheek. “First of all, she just nursed, so a) they won’t be as full and letdown is less likely to occur and b) I assume you won’t actually attempt to nurse, which would be a bit weird I’ll admit.”

Fitz shakes his head vigorously and wide-eyed.

“You probably won’t get more than maybe an accidental taste at this point,” Jemma continues. “So, again, it’s really a personal preference thing but I certainly won’t object if—”

Once again, Fitz interupts her well-meaning speech with a kiss, before looking at her a bit sheepishly. “I’m sorry… I think I’m more nervous than I realize. I mean, our first time was… it was unexpected but… well it was—”

“Good,” Jemma suggests, one corner of her mouth ticking up into a teasing half-smile.

Fitz squints in protest. “Really, Simmons? Now’s the time to throw that back in my face?”

Jemma lets out a single laugh, before forcing herself to become more serious again. “Would it help if I admitted that I’m quite nervous myself?”

“You are?”

“My heart is beating in my throat, Fitz!” Jemma admits, and something in his eyes lights up. “I… I’m nervous, because yes, this is the first time since—and… and it feels like such a significant step, maybe even more so than last time… but even though I’m nervous, I think I’m even more excited.”

“Yeah?” Absentmindedly, Fitz curls a strand of her hair around his finger, twirling it loosely in a constant slow loop.

Jemma smiles, gazing into his loving, blue eyes. “We don’t have to though, Fitz. I’d be more than happy just to sleep those last few hours before Hope wakes us again and/or the morning begins next to you; knowing that from now on, I’ll wake up next to you every day… well, most every day, I suppose, since there might be work-related absences and such.”

Fitz chuckles quietly, before letting out a deep sigh. “I want to though. I so want to.”

Slowly, Jemma curls her hand back around Fitz’s neck, pulling his lips closer and craning her neck to meet him half-way.

* * *

It’s different than their first time. It’s slow. More quiet. Intimate.

And yet it’s the same. Intense. Passionate. Loving each other with body and soul.

When Hope wakes them as the first rays of sunshine sneak around the edges of the closed curtains, Fitz gets up to get her. He brings her to the bed, so that Jemma can nurse their baby girl, while he wraps his arms around them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me. There shall be one more chapter plus an epilogue and then I believe this story may actually come to an end *sniff*
> 
> Huge thank you to @marvelthismarvelthat and @dilkirani for being my amazing betas!
> 
> And since I recently got into graphics, check out [the banner I made](https://68.media.tumblr.com/2c311a474f7027b41a404ed2a10295d9/tumblr_ot5lemWqry1vejik0o1_1280.jpg) :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani and @marvelthismarvelthat for their continued beta support.
> 
> Sorry this update took a bit longer. I think the closer I get to wrapping this story up, the more I hesitate to finish it, 'cause I'll miss it :)

Jemma leans against the doorframe to Hope’s nursery, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Well, good thing this little mess happened before the guests arrived.”

“Little? There’s nothing little about this.” Fitz gestures with a wipe in his hand at Hope’s naked bum, grimacing in mild disgust. He drops her soiled clothes into the laundry basket before grabbing her dirty cloth diaper and dropping it into the diaper pail next to it.

Jemma lets out a quiet laugh, amused by how grumpily he still reacts after months of changing Hope’s diapers. She takes a deep breath and sighs, smiling ear to ear. “Six months. Can you believe she’s six months today?”

“I can,” Fitz grumbles, his eyes darting left and right, seemingly searching for something. “What I can’t believe is that this is the second blowout today and the second brand-new, special-occasion, half-birthday outfit she’s successfully nuked.”

Jemma chuckles as she walks to the closet and pulls out another outfit, wandering to the changing table and placing the clothes within Fitz’s reach. She stems one hand onto her hip, looking down at their daughter, who’s moving her legs impatiently. “Her bowel movements are getting rather impressive, if I say so myself. And supposedly, once she starts solids, they’ll become even worse. Odor wise. Texture wise.”

Fitz lets out a quiet gag noise. “Spare me the details.” He slumps his shoulders, looking at Jemma with self-doubt in his eyes. “What am I doing wrong? I thought blowouts were such a rarity with cloth diapers?”

“Yes, they should be.” Jemma nods, squinting at the stack of cloth diapers. “I’ve noticed that the ones my mum brought for Easter don’t seem to fit as tightly. I think we’d better stick with the brand we got originally.”

“Good idea.” Fitz finishes up cleaning Hope’s behind, before grabbing a fresh cloth diaper. He tucks it under his daughter’s bum, closes the snaps, and dresses her in her third half-birthday outfit for the day.

Then he picks her up, smiling widely as Hope begins to coo, looking straight at him. “Let’s hope the third outfit’s a charm!”

Fitz turns slightly, stretching out his hands so that Jemma can take their daughter from him. Jemma wanders into the living room, while Fitz briefly disappears into the bathroom to wash his hands. When he returns, he sits down on the couch, watching Jemma place Hope into the little baby bouncer. Their daughter’s fingers immediately reach out, trying to spin the colorful wooden balls and flowers stringed up on a metal bar in front of her, while her legs kick in excitement, causing the chair to gently bounce back and forth.

Jemma smiles at Hope before straightening up and walking to the couch, sitting down next to Fitz. He wraps his arm around her, pulling her closer against his upper body, and presses a soft kiss to her hair. In the comfort of his embrace, Jemma’s eyes wander back to Hope. She becomes mesmerized by their daughter’s adorable play, so much so that she barely hears when Fitz whispers quietly next to her.

“I was lying.”

Surprised, Jemma shifts in her seat, trying to look at Fitz more directly. “What?”

Fitz’s head turns, slowly, his expression a mix of seriousness, guilt, and a hint of happiness. “I was lying earlier. I can’t believe she’s almost six months old. I can’t believe she’s had her surgery. And sometimes, I still can’t believe she’s here at all.”

A weak smile flashes across Jemma’s face, her eyes becoming misty with both sadness and joy.

“No regrets though?” she asks, almost hesitantly.

_It’s strange how one can be so sure of something and yet need reassurance at the same time._

The corners of Fitz’s mouth tick up into a wide smile and he simultaneously pulls Jemma a bit closer into his embrace. “None whatsoever.”

Jemma sighs in relief, dropping her head against his shoulder and looking back to Hope, who’s still contently playing in her bouncy chair.

For a little while, they sit next to each other in silence, admiring the amazing little being their combined DNA had created.

“So. Since the topic of solids came up,” Jemma eventually decides to disrupt the quietness, when she notices how her mind had started to spiral from Hope’s beautiful play to one practical problem to the next.

She turns her head in Fitz’s direction and suppresses a giggle when she sees him scrunching his nose in disgust, his head dropping back against the backrest of the couch. “Ugh, more poop talk? Really?”

“I wasn’t going to talk about poop,” Jemma protests, and Fitz lifts his head, turning it to look at her with curious eyes.

“I was wondering what your thoughts were,” Jemma continues once she’s sure she has his attention. “Should we stick with the more traditional fruit and vegetable purees as well as porridge diet, or try baby led weaning.”

She gestures at herself. “Personally, I’m leaning towards baby led weaning.”

Jemma shifts in her seat, pulling her legs under her bum and allowing her hands to become active participants in their conversation. “I mean the prospect of letting our six-month-old eat basically anything from our plates—short of things containing honey, certain obvious choking hazards, and a few other exceptions—is a bit frightening at times, but then again, everything I’ve read just makes a lot of sense to me and maybe we could try some kind of mix of both practices: purees and porridge in the morning, but baby led weaning for the rest of the day.”

Her hand flies to the side in Hope’s direction. “I mean, I’ll still be breastfeeding her, so it’s not like she’d be missing out on essential nutrients and all that and in the beginning it’s really more about developing a sense of taste and textures and becoming acquainted with the different foods and—”

Jemma stops herself, slumping her shoulders, when she suddenly notices Fitz’s wide-eyed expression. “Gosh. I haven’t given you a chance to even get a word in. I’m sorry, Fitz.”

Fitz shakes his head vigorously. “No. No, that’s not… I… I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance to read through everything you’ve given me yet.” His lips twitch briefly into an apologetic half-smile.

“Oh.” Jemma lets out a quiet laugh of relief. “Well, it was quite a bit of reading material and, well, you’re getting ready to go back to work, so naturally your mind is occupied.”

Jemma snuggles up closer against Fitz’s shoulder, who tightens his arm around her. “Honestly, I can’t believe you’re going back to work next Monday. I mean, I realize that Coulson has been more than generous, allowing you to stay home for this long, minor projects aside. And he hasn’t even said so much as a word to me about when I plan on returning, but still, it’s strange to think that come next week, you won’t be here during the day.”

She scoffs briefly, turning her torso to look at Fitz. “And yes, I know, we’ve set up a system and a schedule and I’ll practically never be alone—not that I couldn’t take care of Hope alone, but it’s nice to have some support. And while I love Daisy’s company, and Mack’s, May’s, Bobbi’s, even Hunter’s and Lincoln’s, it’s still not quite the same as having you here with us.”

Jemma pushes her lower lip slightly forward. “We’ll miss you.”

Fitz lets out a quiet chuckle, before his eyes become more serious and he sighs deeply. “Yeah, about that.”

Jemma furrows her brows in slight confusion. “About what?”

“Going back to work.” He shifts nervously in his seat.

“Hmm?”

He bites his lower lip and his hand flies up to his neck, rubbing it anxiously. “I… I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Jemma can feel her heart beat faster in her chest, confused and slightly irritated by his mysterious vagueness. “Talk about what?”

He holds her gaze for a moment before looking away. Jemma can see his eyes darting left and right in thought, before he lets out an audible breath and turns back to face her. “I… I know I should have said something sooner, but I… I didn’t want to get your hopes up… or mine… or have my hopes crushed or—”

“Fitz?” Her voice is quiet, filled with worry and pleading.

Fitz grabs Jemma’s hand, squeezing it gently and while his gesture is not enough to evaporate the unease she feels in her stomach, it gives her enough reassurance to allow her heartbeat to steady again.

“After Hope was born, I… I don’t know, I started thinking.” A hint of a timid smile softens Fitz’s face as he begins his explanation. “I love our work, Jemma. Or rather, I loved it. Past tense. I… I loved that we built things to save the world. That we made a difference. That we helped people. But… but I’m not sure if it’s worth it. Not anymore.”

He pauses, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I… we’ve almost lost each other so many times now, Jemma, and the risks, I mean, even now, when there’s no current threat, I… I still worry, constantly worry, when the next boulder is gonna come crashing down on us and I… I can’t lose you again, Jemma.”

His grip on Jemma’s hand tightens, and intuitively she covers his hand with her free one as a sad smile creeps to her lips.

“And we have Hope now,” Fitz continues, glancing briefly to where their daughter is bouncing in her chair, cooing quietly, mesmerized by her colorful toys. “I can’t risk my life anymore. I don’t want to. And so, I… I don’t know.”

Fitz sighs, closing his eyes briefly and dropping his head, before finding enough courage to face Jemma again. “I started looking at job sites. Not even looking for anything specific, just… just to see what’s out there and keeping an eye out or something and… and a few weeks back there was this ad for an engineering job—with a biotech focus—for a small company in Edinburgh—”

“Edinburgh?” Jemma whispers quietly, not loud enough to get Fitz’s attention.

“And… and I applied and I had a phone interview with them last week and—” He clears his throat, once again needing to look away briefly before his eyes find Jemma’s. “And this morning I had an e-mail from them and they made me an offer.”

Jemma’s lips part in surprise, but her mind is still processing the information she’s been given and so she remains silent while Fitz rambles on.

“And of course I haven’t given them an answer yet and… and I won’t say yes unless you’re okay with it and… and it wouldn’t have to be this job and… and it doesn’t have to be Scotland. It… it could be closer to your parents or in London, or back here if you want to stay close to our friends, or close to Boston where Will is.”

He pauses briefly, his chest heaving with anxious breaths and from having spoken so rapidly. “I… I just… I don’t think I can work for S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore, Jemma, and… and of course I can’t tell you—”

“Fitz.” Jemma whispers his name while squeezing his hand, the simple gesture seemingly enough to get his attention.

“Yeah?” His voice isn’t louder than hers had been; if at all possible, he may have spoken even more quietly. There’s a hint of fear in his wide-open eyes, in the way his mouth hangs partially open in nervous anticipation.

Slowly, Jemma’s lips pull into a wide smile. “Tell me more about this job.”

“Yeah?” Fitz asks, his expression morphing from fear to hopefulness as a shy smile brightens his face.

Jemma nods slightly. “Yes.”

His eyes light up, and he turns halfway to look more directly at Jemma. “Well. It’s… it’s a small company working on sustainable biofuels, they’re… they’re actually using the by-products of whiskey production, can you believe it.”

Jemma chuckles, her cheeks almost hurting from the smile caused by his sudden enthusiasm. “Whiskey? Really? That sounds fascinating.”

Fitz’s head bobs up and down in rapid motion, and Jemma can see the delighted sparkle in his eyes he always gets whenever he talks about science. “Yeah, yeah, I mean, I can show you their website later. The process, well, it’s… it’s great. You’d love the science behind it. They’ve adapted the traditional Weizmann fermentation process and—”

He suddenly stops, a happy smile lingering on his lips, before he clears his throat. “I’ll save the scientific details for later maybe.”

Jemma lets out a quiet laugh, nodding in agreement.

“Well, anyways,” Fitz continues. “They’re… they’re expanding and so they want another engineer.”

Fitz pauses, waving his hand in front of his chest in a small half-circle motion. “And they’re not in a rush. I mean, they understand that we would need time to wrap things up here. And I mentioned that you’re a brilliant biochemist and… I mean, they obviously didn’t imply that you could get a job there, but they also didn’t discourage that possibility and they mentioned that there’s quite a few excellent labs and biotech companies in Edinburgh. I mean they have the bioQuarter for heaven’s sake and also the university and… and—get this—the little brother of the Head of Research and Innovation has ToF, so she’ll see if there are any support groups or anything like that and I already checked and national paediatric cardiac service is in Glasgow, which is only an hour away and—”

“You talked to them about me and Hope?” Jemma finally manages to chime in, after having listened to Fitz in awe.

He shrugs. “Yeah, I… it was a fairly informal interview and… and at some point we basically just chatted and I know maybe I shouldn’t have, but… but you guys are on my mind a lot, constantly really.”

Jemma tilts her head, feeling her eyes become misty and a warmth radiating from her heart through her body. “You’ve put so much thought into this.”

The corners of his mouth tick up into a shy smile. “Yeah, well, I… I want to make sure that everything is perfect for us, and… and I know it’s not Perthshire—”

A stuttering breath, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper, escapes Jemma’s lips.

“Perthshire?” she asks, barely above a whisper, her voice breaking.

He looks at her, his blue eyes emanating nothing but love and serenity. “You mentioned it in one of your videos.”

Jemma lets out a shaky sob, nodding ever so slightly as a tear jumps from her eyelashes to her cheek. “Yeah, I know, but we never talked about—”

Fitz reaches up, his thumb wiping away the watery trail of her single tear, as he smiles at her. “It’s not Perthshire,” he remarks matter-of-factly, seemingly seeing no need to discuss any further under what circumstances Jemma had confessed her dream of a future in Scotland. “But it’s only an hour drive to Perth and… and I don’t know if we could afford a cottage right away, but maybe one day for weekend trips or vacations or—”

“Fitz,” Jemma interrupts him, feeling the pain of remembering her time of Maveth ebb away and make room for a future full of possibilities.

“Yeah?”

“It sounds lovely.”

He smiles at her, his eyes shimmering with happiness. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jemma nods.

Fitz lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re not mad?”

Jemma can’t help but laugh out loud. “No,” she replies earnestly, shaking her head slightly. “Surprised maybe, but… but I’ve been quite glad that Coulson hasn’t asked me when I intend to return because, truth be told, I don’t think I want to either. Everything you said is true, Fitz. We… we’ve done our part. We’ve helped save the world on so many occasions, risking our own lives. I think it’s only fair to think of ourselves for once, of Hope, our future. We can still help people. That company sounds wonderful and… we’ll just help in different ways. Maybe more small-scale but that doesn’t make it any less significant.”

Absentmindedly, Fitz tucks a strand of Jemma’s hair behind her ear, before his hand glides down her arm to end on top of her hand, squeezing it gently. “Alright. I’ll tell them yes and then… then I’ll talk to Coulson next Monday.” He pauses, his eyes wandering briefly to Hope in her bouncy chair. “Probably shouldn’t bring it up today. Might ruin the party.”

Jemma nods in agreement, scrunching her nose. “I agree. We don’t want to sadden our friends on such a joyous day. Maybe I could come down with Hope next week and we… we could talk to him together. Two birds and all that?”

“Yeah. That sounds good.” Fitz draws in a slow cleansing breath, and his shoulders drop, noticeably more relaxed than before. “Today, we’ll let everyone be happy and enjoy cake. Of which Hope isn’t going to get any, which seems a bit unfair considering that she’s the half-birthday girl.”

Fitz turns to look at Hope. “Right, Little Monkey?

Hope bounces a bit more vigorously and lets out a delighted little squeal when she notices Fitz addressing her.

Jemma’s eyes wander in their daughter’s direction as well and she can’t help but chuckle. “Well, considering that we haven’t even started her on solids yet, I think we might want to start her off on something a bit more healthy than cake.”

Fitz scoffs in fake protest. “Do you hear your mother? Sorry, Monkey, I tried my best, but there’s no arguing with her. Guess, I’ll just eat an extra slice for you.”

Jemma playfully slaps Fitz on his shoulder. “Oh, you insufferable sweet tooth!”

Fitz grins back at her, leaning over to kiss Jemma gently. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

Fitz rests his arm on the back of the couch, while his hand strokes up and down Jemma’s shoulder. “Coming back to me, giving me Hope, agreeing to move, starting something new, spending your life with me.”

Jemma smiles, tilting her head and preparing to speak, when Fitz suddenly continues.

“And most importantly letting me eat two pieces of cake.”

Jemma laughs out loud, leaning closer and whispering a love confession that mingles with his breath before kissing him again. His lips are soft and welcoming, and for a moment, Jemma allows the world around them to disappear, until Hope begins to squirm in her bouncer.

Somewhat reluctantly, they break their kiss, their eyes lingering on each other for one more moment before Jemma gets up. She walks over to the bouncy chair and lifts Hope out of it, bringing their daughter over to the couch. Fitz takes Hope from Jemma, turning her so she can look at both of her parents.

Hope’s eyes are wide and beaming with happiness and her hands reach out, trying to grab Jemma’s fingers.

“What do you think, Little Monkey?” Jemma asks, unable to stop from smiling herself as their daughter tightens her grip around Jemma’s index finger and tries to pull it to her mouth. “Would you like to live in Scotland?”

Jemma shifts her focus from Hope to Fitz, feeling her eyes light up in delight. “Oh, Fitz, just imagine the adorable accent she’ll pick up!”

Fitz gasps, his brows furrowing in disbelief. “Adorable? Scottish isn’t an adorable accent, it’s a good accent, a strong accent, it’s—”

Jemma disrupts his rant with a quick peck, grinning at him mischievously as she slowly pulls away. “It’s downright sexy.”

The corners of his lips tick into a satisfied smirk and he bobs his head, before looking down at Hope, who meets his eyes with curiosity. “Now we’re talking.”

Jemma laughs out loud, holding Fitz’s gaze until they both lean closer to kiss again, while their daughter tries to reach up and touch their faces from where she’s sitting on Fitz’s lap.

They break their kiss when they hear the door unlock, both turning their heads to look at the entrance door.

Daisy pushes the door open with her back, slowly turning around and revealing a large, flat, rectangular box in her hands.

“The cake is here! I repeat, the cake is here. Drop everything!” she announces seriously.

Jemma and Fitz both look at their daughter’s godmother, smiling widely while Hope coos in excitement, her hands reaching forward in Daisy’s direction.

“No, seriously,” Daisy continues, staring at them wide-eyed. “Drop everything, this thing is heavy and someone needs to take it from me before I drop it, ‘cause that’ll be a half-birthday disaster.”

“I’d offer to help,” Lincoln pipes up from the hallway, hiding behind a large stack of wrapped birthday presents. “But she’s bought out half the toy store next to the cake shop, so my hands are pretty full already.”

Jemma and Fitz laugh and Fitz hands Hope to Jemma before jumping off the couch and sprinting over to where Daisy is balancing the big box with cake on one hand in his direction.

Fitz grabs the box, surprised that it’s far lighter than what Daisy had made it sound like, when a forceful slap on his back momentarily almost makes him lose his balance.

“Ah, thanks, dude.” Daisy grins mischievously, taking a few steps towards the couch, stretching out her arms in Hope’s direction. “Now that that’s settled—gimme that cutiepie, Simmons!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The company in Edinburgh is based on an actual company ('cause if you know me, you know that I sometimes go overboard with my research :) )
> 
> Only the epilogue left. *sobs quietly*


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A final big thank you to @marvelthismarvelthat and @dilkirani for being my amazing betas for this fic.

Jemma jerks up from her state between waking and drifting off to sleep when Fitz quietly sneaks into the bedroom, lifting the blanket to crawl into bed. His hand gently glides across her stomach as he snuggles down next to her, spooning her from behind. Jemma inhales slowly, taking in his familiar scent, and her hand reaches up to rest on his forearm, drawing him closer.

“She’s finally asleep?” Jemma whispers quietly.

Fitz mumbles a quiet “Mhm,” while placing a soft kiss against Jemma’s hair.

Jemma turns slightly, twisting her head, so she can catch a glimpse of him in the darkness of their room. Everything still smells of fresh paint. Everything still feels a bit unfamiliar and yet like home nonetheless.

A smile flashes across her face when she sees Fitz gazing back at her, his lips pulled into a wide grin.

“Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Jemma chuckles quietly, her hand absentmindedly gliding up and down his forearm. “Fall asleep in our new home without you? What kind of girlfriend would I be?”

“Mmmm.” Fitz props himself up, leaning forward to allow his lips to gently brush against Jemma’s. “But it’s late, and with the jetlag God knows how long Hope will actually let us sleep. She’s pretty out of whack.”

“Yes. Poor thing.” Jemma purses her lips. “The next few days will be rough. Good thing you don’t start your new job until next week.”

“Yep.” Fitz settles back down on the mattress, hugging Jemma’s waist a bit more tightly. “Good to have some time to get acclimated.”

Jemma shifts, turning around so she can face Fitz. A smile lingers on her face as she traces his jaw with her fingers. “Can you believe we’re actually here? A new home. A new life. A new future.”

“It is hard to believe, isn’t it?” There’s a serene softness in his eyes, which are illuminated by nothing more than the dim light of a street lamp shining in through the curtains. “It’s a good feeling though, if you ask me. Plus, technically, it’s not a new home.”

“Well, of course the building is not brand-new, but for us it’s—”

Jemma is a bit surprised when Fitz captures her lips with his, hindering her from finishing her sentence. But then, she has no reason to object either.

One corner of Fitz’s mouth ticks up ever so slightly as he tucks Jemma’s hair behind her ear. “As long as you and Hope are with me, I’ve got my home wherever I go.”

Jemma tries to stifle the laugh bubbling to the surface, afraid it could wake Hope on the other side of the wall. “Oh, Fitz. You do realize that’s incredibly sappy.”

Fitz scoffs, shrugging slightly. “Maybe it is. But it’s also the truth.”

Jemma draws in a slow breath, scooting closer to Fitz, savoring the warmth his body radiates. “I suppose I would agree.”

Fitz gasps in pretend shock. “You? Jemma Anne Simmons? Agree? With my sappy, romantic sentiments? Who are you and what have you—”

This time it’s on Jemma to interrupt Fitz mid-word. She’s quite satisfied with herself when she hears Fitz’s deep moan caused by her somewhat more passionate approach. When she breaks the kiss, he tries to chase after her lips, but Jemma manages to bring just enough distance between their faces.

“I do agree,” she admits, cupping his cheek with her palm. “You’re my home. And Hope. And this is everything I want and didn’t even know I wanted. And I’m glad we’re here. And I’m excited about what lies ahead and—”

Jemma inhales deeply, her heart suddenly beating faster at an unexpected realization. “I think there’s only one thing left to do.”

Fitz nods ever so slightly. “Finish painting the livin—”

“Will you marry me?”

Fitz stares at her wide-eyed, his mouth gaping ajar, and for a moment, Jemma worries that he’s stopped breathing altogether, until a barely audible “Wha—?” escapes his lips.

Jemma’s lips twitch into a nervous smile. “Will you marry me, Fitz?” she repeats, her voice shaking a bit more than the first time she’d asked.

Fitz continues to stare at her in silence and all Jemma can do is listen to her rapid heartbeat until it becomes too much to bear.

“Fitz?” she mutters, nervously.

His mouth opens and closes a few times and he wets his lips. “You sure?”

“I asked twice.”

A wave of relief rushes through Jemma’s body when Fitz’s quiet laugh fills their bedroom.

“Yes,” he finally says.

Jemma feels her eyes welling up, her lips stretching from ear to ear. “Yes?”

He nods, his eyes shimmering behind a thin curtain of tears as well. “Yes.”

Jemma cups Fitz’s face, pulling him closer to kiss him. He rolls on top of her, his tongue eagerly dancing with hers, as his hands find their way underneath Jemma’s shirt, while her fingers bury into his curls. Jemma moans quietly when Fitz begins kissing the pulse point below her ear. Reluctantly, she opens her eyes, trying to carefully tug on his hair to get him to stop. “Fitz, it’s late. We’re jetlagged. God knows how long Hope will let us sleep. Maybe we—”

Fitz pushes himself up, his eyes sparkling at Jemma mischievously and a wide grin adorning his face. “Screw jetlag. We just got engaged. And we need to christen this room. And—”

Fitz’s head drops in utter disbelief and he groans quietly when Hope begins crying in her room.

He lifts his head, exhaling sharply. “Our daughter is a cockblock.”

Jemma laughs out loud. “She appears to be, but maybe with the jetlag and moving to a different country and all that, we’ll let it slide this one time.” Gently, she presses her palms against Fitz’s chest to nudge him to get up. “I promise you, we will continue this ‘conversation’ in depth at another point.”

“In depth?” Fitz wiggles his eyebrows. “I see what you did there.”

Jemma chuckles. “I’m glad you can see right through my subtle innuendos, but maybe for now—”

“I’ll check on her.” Fitz pushes himself onto his knees and scoots out of bed.

He walks to the door and opens it, calling into the hallway. “Daddy’s coming, monkey.”

“Why don’t you bring her here?”

Fitz turns back to look at Jemma, pointing at the floor of their bedroom. “Here?”

Jemma sits up and shrugs. “I know we’ve discussed co-sleeping at length and agreed that it’s not something we want to do, but these are extraordinary circumstances and maybe it would help her to be close to us tonight. Why not spend the first night at our new home together as a family? Plus, I can nurse her and it’ll lull her right back to sleep.”

A smile flashes across Fitz’s face and he nods in silence before slipping into the hallway and returning moments later with a sleepy, tear-streaked and sniffling Hope clinging to his chest.

They still don’t get much sleep that night, but Jemma’s quite certain she’s not the only one who doesn’t mind that much.

* * *

* * *

Jemma couldn’t quite believe her luck. The forecast had been inconclusive, the prognosis switching from cloudy, to sunny, to showers possible with each passing day. In the end, it had been cloudy, a bit windy, and a bit on the cooler side, but the sun had poked through and the rain had held off.

They’d been able to hold the ceremony outside the lovely Perthshire cottage they’d rented for the occasion, and while dinner tables and the dancefloor were set up inside, the guests had ample opportunity to mingle in the beautiful garden.

Many of their former S.H.I.E.L.D. colleagues had flown in for the occasion, and they’d also invited colleagues from their new places of work (Hunter had been particularly pleased with the nice selection of Scottish whiskey Fitz’s bosses had donated for the wedding thanks to their connections to the distilleries).

Daisy had adhered to the rules Fitz had established: once the five minutes of uninterrupted kilt mocking time had passed, she’d remained silent on the topic for the rest of the day, leaving Fitz and his traditional Scottish attire alone (which he’d only agreed on wearing after Jemma had sneakily gotten his mother involved in the debate).

But neither Fitz in his dashing kilt, nor Jemma in her beautiful lace gown were quite able to take attention away from Hope, who was winning everyone’s hearts in her adorable tartan dress. At one-and-a-half years old, curly-haired and brown-eyed, she toddled from guest to guest, smiling widely.

At one point, Mack picked her up and she stared wide-eyed, but without fear, at the tall man, her curious hands reaching up to touch his bald head. Jemma didn’t even try to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks when she saw Mack carefully sliding one finger under the gold necklace around Hope’s neck. Mack’s lips pulled into a shy smile as he mouthed a silent “thank you” in Fitz and Jemma’s direction.

* * *

They sway gently to a slow song, their eyes fixed on each other, the corners of their mouths ticked up as they’d been all day. Slowly, Fitz leans closer, pressing his lips softly but briefly against Jemma’s. Jemma sighs, turning her head to rest it against Fitz’s chest. Her ears pick up the quiet sound of his steady and calm heartbeat, while her eyes catch sight of Will, dancing with Hope on his hip. A warm wave of love and joy rushes through Jemma at the marvelous sight. She chuckles quietly when she sees Hope yawn widely. Their daughter is clearly starting to become sleepy but hasn’t yet moved from overly excited tiredness to cranky tiredness.

Eventually, Will makes his way to Jemma and Fitz, stretching out his arms to allow Fitz to take Hope from him. Their daughter smiles widely, her little hands reaching up, and Jemma leans closer towards Fitz, allowing Hope to wrap her short arms around both her father’s and mother’s necks.

They continue to dance, slowly, gently, as a family, and Jemma can’t help but feel serenity wash over her.

She’s not sure why, but suddenly the book that Daisy had gotten for Hope, and which they’d read to her so many times by now, comes to Jemma’s mind.

 _While you waited in darkness_ , she thinks, remembering where it had all begun.

How the monolith had taken her away from Fitz after their first night together, after they’d finally taken a first step forward.

How darkness had surrounded her for months, Will her only support.

How she’d realized she was pregnant.

How scared she’d been.

How unsure.

How the unexpected pregnancy, the unexpected baby, had turned from fear-inducing to becoming Jemma’s hope, first figuratively speaking and then literally when their baby girl had been born and they’d named her.

There’d been so much darkness and fear.

Being swept to a different planet.

Being pregnant in a desert that was filled with danger and darkness, that lacked food and water.

Hope being born early.

Their daughter’s heart defect.

And yet, somehow it had led Jemma to all this.

_On the day you were born, the round planet Earth turned toward your morning sky, whirling past darkness, spinning the night into light._

The more she thinks about it, the more Jemma realizes that it wasn’t just Hope who had waited in darkness only to be brought to light, to life, into this world. Jemma had been brought from darkness to light as well.

Her life had changed in so many ways, and while some changes seemed bleak and frightening at first, somehow they’d all led her to this moment and to a future she couldn’t wait to experience and explore.

Maybe it had all been unexpected, but somehow it had all been right.

Jemma’s hand rests on Hope’s back while her other arm rests on Fitz’s shoulder. They’re still swaying to the music, even though Jemma can tell that the slow song is lulling Hope to sleep, her eyes barely open as she snuggles her head against Fitz’s chest, while her little fingers slowly slip off Jemma’s neck.

_And as they held you close, they whispered into your open, curving ear…_

Jemma pulls herself a little closer, bringing her lips to her daughter’s ear.

“We are so glad you’ve come,” she recites the final words of the children’s book.

Jemma glances at Fitz, whose lips pull into a knowing smile. He leans closer, pressing a kiss against the top of Hope’s head first, before his lips find Jemma’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't quite believe it's over. I hope you enjoyed the ride. Over 300 kudos! I still can't believe it! 
> 
> Thank you all so much.
> 
> Re "which he’d only agreed on wearing after Jemma had sneakily gotten his mother involved in the debate" [There is a fic for that](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8388841) :)
> 
> Re Fitz in a kilt and Jemma in a lace gown: [There's a manip for that](https://the-nerdy-stjarna.tumblr.com/post/160351231844/hell-never-forget-that-day-his-wedding-day) (Which my loving husband technically made for [a different fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10652901/chapters/23572749), but it fits here as well)


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